


come find me lovers

by Karentt1



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Biphobia, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Kinda, M/M, Or Is It?, POV Outsider, Unrequited Love, because the show is full of cowards, he was really hard to write, hes just really dumb and cant talk about emotions, i swear i love him, i want them to be friends, im sorry, some of y'all may hate geralt in this, some parts are, some parts are from jaskier, yennefer actually likes jaskier in this, you want angst? you want humour? you want fluff? I got it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: Jaskier loved to tell stories. And as the village children crowded around him, he prepared himself to tell the hardest one yet - the story of his own heart break.(Or the one where Jaskier is forced to watch Geralt and Yennefer fall in love, and so he fucked off to the coast, and then tells his story to a little girl. Also known as what fucking time period is this, i dont know.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 41
Kudos: 241
Collections: Polyamorous Relationships For the Win





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> quarantine got me fucked up, so prepare for a lot of stories from me, i cant stop writing. I already have a new one planned out that im gonna start. i have a fucking essay due too, so someone needs to get me off of here
> 
> anyway, if anything is bad, out of character, or just wonky, feel free to tell me!
> 
> im sorry this is bad! Good luck!

Samantha Kelly, or Sam, was seven years old when a boy first broke her heart. 

His name was Bryan, and he had told her on the playground that they would get married when they were older, and Sam would wear a pretty dress with flowers in her hair at their wedding. Sam told him she would prefer to wear the suit, and Bryan had left for Annie instead. Annie, with her perfect brown hair, and blue eyes, and delicate personality, looking like a princess right from the pages of a fairy tale. She just didn’t understand why Bryan would leave her because of something so simple, and why when she saw Annie and Bryan together, she felt a slight tug on her heart. Annie would let the boys fight over her, pretending to offer them her handkerchief as they slayed the dragon, as they were playing pretend. Sam didn’t want to be a princess, unless that princess was Merida. 

Sam was often compared to the fiery haired Scottish princess herself, with her curly red hair, and green eyes. She had watched the movie wide eyed with her grandmother after the kids at school had called her Merida one too many times, and she wished she could be as free as Merida, the wind in her hair, wrapping a tapestry around her mother in a circle of stones. Sometimes the sun would hit her hair and turn it into gold, and she would think that maybe she preferred not looking like Annie. 

She wanted to take up archery after watching the movie Brave, but her mother told her she could when she was older, and could pay for it herself. Sam thought that was very unfair, especially when her older sister, Tammy, got to go to the dance studio every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, but she was only seven and couldn’t argue back without adults yelling at her. 

Sam lived in a small village on the coast of Ireland. The village was small, with only five hundred and one people. Until a few years ago, there had only been five hundred. 

It had only been a few months since Sam learned she didn’t live in a town, but a village. A village only had about five hundred to twenty-five thousand people, while a town could have anywhere from one hundred thousand to fifty thousand. It was a strange thought to her, how somewhere could have so many people. 

The village had a blacksmith, stonemasons, a church, a farmers market, a schoolhouse, and two different pubs and inns. The farmers market was between two streets, with a tin roof to protect it against the rain. Everything had been built before the 1900’s, and the village was practically falling apart. The houses were still made of grey stones, and the roads were cobblestone. 

Sam lived on a hill, in a small cottage. Down at the bottom was the farm where her dad and brothers worked, cut off by a long wooden fence. The dirt road curled around into the town, and people often walked to their property, looking for fresh fruits and vegetables for their meals. 

“Mother?” Sam asked, standing on her tip toes to peer over the counter where her mother was making supper. She had just gotten home from school, where Bryan had rejected her after learning she wouldn’t wear a dress when they got married. She didn’t think it was a bad idea; Bryan could wear the dress instead if he was concerned about one of the wearing and the other a dress. 

Her mother hummed, chopping the onions with a skill Sam wished she possessed. “What is it sweetie?” 

“Are we doing anything tonight?” 

Her mother huffed, and threw the onions into a sizzling pan with melted butter. “I’m going into the UK with Tammy for the next three days. You are staying here with your Grandmother.” 

Sam’s grandmother was an old woman, with streaks of grey in her hair. Her hands were knobbly, but capable, and her eyes were keen. She wore scarlet rubber boots, and woke up every morning to milk the cows. She waved when Sam turned to her, sitting on the kitchen table, doing her knitting. 

“Why can’t I go with you?” Sam asked, turning back to her mother. She didn’t want her mother to leave, to leave her home with her dad, and grandmother. She wanted to go to the UK as well. 

“Because I don’t need to watch two children in Liverpool. You don’t need to come with us,” her mother replied, wiping her hands and knife on her apron. 

“Why not?” Sam asked. 

“Because Tammy is doing a competition, and you don’t need to see it.” And that's the end of it, because Sam knew not to ask too many questions, because then her mother would get mad, and no one wanted that. 

They ate their supper, then her mother and Tammy packed up their bags, and went to the boats. Sam hugged her mother goodbye tightly, wishing she was coming with. Sam's father kissed her mother, then walked away to home, as if he didn’t care. Sam’s grandmother wrapped her arms around Sam, and whispered, “Don’t be sad, my dear. We’ll have fun together by ourselves alright?” 

Sam nodded slowly, and took her grandmother's hand, and walked home, occasionally looking over her shoulder to watch the motorboat cut through the water away from home.

Sam’s dad went to bed so he could wake up and feed the animals early the next morning, and Sam’s brother, Edward, was in his room, reading. Sam was left alone with Grandmother. 

“So what do you want to do?” Her grandmother asked. Sam shrugged. Her grandmother leaned down, her joints creaking. “I have an idea,” she whispered. “Why don’t I take you down to the pub tonight?” 

Every Friday, one of the pubs would hold a celebration and the entire town would come join them. The men would smoke, the women gossip, and they would dance the night away, getting drunker and drunker. Sam had only gone once when she was five. She couldn’t remember much from it, only the smell of beer and the sounds of a fiddle as people danced. 

“That sounds cool,” Sam said excitedly. “Can I really go with you? What will father say?” 

Her grandmother winked, her eyes twinkling. “What your father doesn’t know won’t hurt him. My Jacob is a good man, but he is too strict with you children. Sometimes you just need to do something fun without parents permission.” 

They started to prepare to leave, Grandmother wrapping a red raincoat all the way up to Sam's chin. Grandmother wore a scarf, and her iron rings, because she still believed in the fae. Sam thought it was stupid. 

They exited through the backdoor, tiptoeing so Father wouldn’t wake up, and ran down the dirt road into the village. The night was dark, and Sam was used to watching the night fall out of her window, but had never seen it outside. The twilight felt peaceful, as if they shouldn’t be there. After a few minutes of walking, they made it into the village. Street lights were strung along posts, and Sam’s grandmother danced along the stone road as if she were young again. Sam held her hand tightly, vibrating with excitement. She couldn’t believe she was going to the celebration. She couldn’t wait to brag to Bryan the next day. 

They approached the pub, and the lights inside were a buttery yellow, and Sam could already hear the band playing a little tune. 

Her grandmother held the door open for Sam, as she entered the pub. It was already lively inside, the women dancing a little jig in the centre, the men yelling encouragement from the sideline. The barkeep was handing out stew, thick with vegetables and gravy, bustling around. Sam looked around in amazement, as her grandmother led her inside, past the men and women dancing. 

“Edith, I see you’ve brought your granddaughter,” a busty young woman asked, running up to them. Her long blonde hair was held back with a plain bandanna. Her eyes were a beautiful hazel, like gold. She leaned down, her skirts fluttering around her, as Sam’s grandmother laughed. “Which one are you?” 

“I’m Sam,” she said, almost in awe. “You’re really pretty.” 

The woman laughed, a deep rich sound, like buttered pork. “Thank you very much darling,” she drawled. 

Grandmother smiled down at her. “That was very kind of you Sam,” she said, leading them away from the woman, and Sam mourned her presence. Sam’s grandmother led them to a table in the corner, then sat Sam down. “I’ll get us some stew,” she said, and walked away to get them something to eat. 

The pub was full of laughter and joy. Sam could feel herself smile as she watched them, even though her feet couldn’t even touch the floor when she sat down. She kicked her feet back and forth under the table. 

Her grandmother returned a few minutes later with two bowls of steaming stew, and a mug of beer. “My dear, you’re in for a treat tonight,” she said, sliding into the seat next to Sam.

“Why is that?” she asked, picking up the copper spoon to taste the stew. It burned her tongue, and she frowned. 

“I just found out that Jaskier is performing tonight,” her grandmother whispered in her ear, passing the mug towards her, so she could take a tiny sip to cool her tongue. Sam tasted the beer and nearly spat it out in disgust, but it cooled her tongue so she didn’t. 

Everyone in the town knew about Jaskier; he had been a new addition to the town five years ago. He lived on the cliffs above the ocean, and he sometimes wore dresses that billowed in the wind. He made his own bread at home instead of buying from the farmers market, and he had his own garden. He barely came down from his cottage, but people said his music was so beautiful it could tame a dragon. 

Some people doubted he was human, saying no one in the world had eyes that blue. Sam heard her teachers gossiping, saying that he was running from someone, that he walked like he was a ghost. Sam didn’t know why he would come here, to her little village. 

A loud cheer went up as the man himself walked through and took his place at the front. Sam stood up in her seat, and caught sight of floppy brown hair, and suspenders over a poofy white shirt. 

“Hello everyone,” Jaskier called, and everyone cheered. The pub practically shook from their excitement. He strummed his instrument, one Sam couldn’t recognise, and began to sing. 

The rumours were right; Sam could see a dragon fall in the face of his voice. 

The crowd stomped along as he sang, his fingers moving quickly to create a jaunty tune. People took up arms and danced, their hands and feet moving along with the beat. Sam’s grandmother clapped along, and watched the festivities, as he sang about tossing a coin to someone. 

The night was danced away, the music spinning around, and Sam tapped her foot against the wooden floors. Jaskier moved along the floor, bumping shoulders with everyone, winking, and flirting. He passed by Sam’s table, and she could see that his eyes really were the most brilliant blue. He looked surprised to see her, but smiled, then moved along. 

“ _ I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting,”  _ he sang, and Sam’s grandmother sighed sadly. 

“Poor boy,” she muttered, finishing her beer. Sam looked at her quizzically, and she explained, “He’s clearly brokenhearted, just listen to him sing.” 

Sam turned back, and tried to pay better attention. “ _ I'll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, Garroter, jury, and judge,”  _ he sang, and she could hear the pain inside his song, no matter how much he smiled while he played. 

“I wonder what lassie broke his heart,” Grandmother said, “He walks around like he cannot love again. He’s an expert at heartache, I’ll give him that. Just listening to him sing makes me feel as if Gary has left me all over again.” She sighed again. 

Sam looked at him singing, and thought that perhaps if he was an expert on heartache he’d be able to tell her about Bryan, and why when she looked at Annie, her heart felt like it was jumping out of her chest.

She went home that night, her head swimming with his songs, and grandmother tucked her into bed, kissing her forehead. 

Her grandmother was taking her usual nap when Sam snuck out of the house, the same way she had shown her the night before. It was the next day, a bright morning, and Edward was swimming at the beach with his friends. Her father was in town, selling their goods to eager customers. 

Sam brought with her ten lilies, five buttercups, and one dandelion as payment, because she wasn’t tall enough to get into her mother's secret stash of coins. She didn’t know if Jaskier would accept the alternate payment, but she was willing to try. 

Her mother had always told her to never go talk to Jaskier, said he was too recluse, too strange, but Sam had questions for him that needed answering. Grandmother even said that sometimes you just had to have a little fun. 

It was a strangely sunny day, but the wind was still chilly on Sam's skin. She walked along the cliffs until she made it to Jaskier’s cottage, a small thing on the rocks. Smoke curled from the stone chimney, and a little wire gate was in the front, decorated with tiny flowers. Sam walked through, and entered his garden, full of all kinds of plants and flowers. Rocks were in the middle so Jaskier could move through the plants without hurting them, and the salty sea air mixed with the dirt. Sam could smell baking bread, a sweet buttery scent. She made it to the front door, and knocked. 

“Coming,” a voice called, and the door opened with a creak. Jaskier appeared, and he was taller than Sam assumed he was. “Oh hello,” he said. Jaskier looked shocked, as if he didn’t expect any guests to come over today. He was wearing an apron covered in flour, and he had a smudge of white on his left cheek. He was old, almost in his forties. 

“Hello sir,” Sam began, reciting what her first grade teacher had told them was proper etiquette when meeting someone new. “I have a few questions for you.” She held out the flowers for him to take. “I brought these for you.” 

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Jaskier said, still looking bewildered. He took the flowers from her, and Sam smiled, happy he had accepted the payment. “Come in, wipe your feet on the mat.” 

Sam entered his kitchen, which looked old. The oven was still a hearth, and she could see baking bread inside of it, filling the room with its scent. Jaskier grabbed a vase, and placed the flowers inside, then put it on the shelf. She sat down at his table, a rickety old thing, with a small lace tablecloth on top. 

“There,” he stated, looking proud. “A little splash of colour to the place. Now,” he turned to Sam. “What’s your name young one?” 

“Sam.” 

He looked surprised. “Oh you’re Edith's granddaughter, huh?” Sam couldn’t imagine her grandmother being named Edith, had never heard her be referred to by that, but now she was hearing it everywhere, first from that busty young woman, and now Jaskier. “Well, what do you want to ask me?” 

Sam took a deep breath, and prepared herself. “My grandmother says you’re an expert on heartache,” she said, “So I want to ask you a few questions about it.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier said, looking crestfallen, and Sam wondered what she said to make him look like that. “Ask away then.” 

“Okay, first of all, why do girls have to wear dresses, and boys have to wear suits at weddings?” 

“They don't. You can do whatever you feel comfortable with.” Jaskier brushed his hands off, and a cloud of flour appeared in the air. “Plenty of women have gotten married in suits, and plenty of men have gotten married in dresses.” 

“I knew it,” Sam whispered under her breath. So Bryan was just a coward then. “Second, why does it hurt when I see someone I like being with someone else?” 

“Because when you love someone, you want to be the one taking care of them. You want to be the one loving them, so it hurts when they get that from someone else.” He looked sad when he said that, Sam noticed, like he was remembering something horrible. As if he understood what he was saying, not just reciting words from a book, but rather his heart. 

“Is that what happened to you?” she asked, tilting her head curiously, kicking her legs. Her hair bounced as she moved. 

“It’s part of it,” he said, turning back to his baking. He got out some bread starter, and began to add flour, measuring it at random. He must have made it ten thousand times before to know exactly how much to add. 

“What happened?” She wanted to know why Jaskier was at their little village, why he had chosen to run there, why her grandmother said he was the expert on heartbreak. “My grandmother says you’re running from someone. Who is it?” 

Jaskier turned to her. “It’s kind of a long story,” he admitted, smiling sadly. His eyes looked broken, as if something inside of him had shattered and blown away. “I can tell you, but I have to make this bread while I talk, if that’s okay with you.” 

She nodded, and Jaskier chuckled. Sam shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable in the wooden seat. “Okay, where to begin.” he tapped his chin, then brightened. “Oh, I know. So I was a young man in America, living in the city across from the channel and one day…” 

* * *

“Geralt, I can’t wait for you to meet Yen,” Jaskier cried happily, skipping along the bridge. Underneath him, the highway roared as the cars drove by. “You’ll love her, I promise.” 

Behind him Geralt grunted. Jaskier turned around so he was walking backwards. “Oh don’t be such a sourpuss,” he grinned teasingly. Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything back. Jaskier was used to his silence, used to filling the quiet with his words. 

“I’m serious,” Jaskier continued, spinning around again. “I think she’s gotten tired hearing about you all the time. She always complains when I say your name in conversation.” 

Jaskier was a twenty-two year old college student, studying music theory, singing in bars and festivals for money. His father was a rich businessman, who gave his son a few thousand dollars every month, if only to convince him to come back home, and resume his position as the company's son. Jaskier would never go back though, having abandoned it a while ago. 

Geralt was a college hockey player, who Jaskier had approached after watching him play, flirting outrageously. He didn’t think Geralt knew he was being serious, because the other man just rolled his eyes. The two had become fast friends (“that's a lie,” Geralt would say, rolling his eyes, but Jaskier disagreed), and had spent a lot of time together over the few months. 

Jaskier and Yennefer, however, were childhood best friends who lived together. Yennefer was studying to get her doctor's degree, and Jaskier was her annoying roommate, who never stopped talking. They had been through everything together - met in grade school, when Jaskier had insisted on returning her books, and she pushed him into the mud. He had been with her ever since, following her around. She was his very best friend, besides Geralt, even though they fought quite a bit. 

Despite Jaskier considering both of them his best friends, they had never met, never had a spot in their schedules lined up so they could. But Jaskier was determined for them to meet; knew that they would love each other. Both were fierce and powerful, both were filled with ambition, both wanted more from the world than what they were given. 

So Jaskier had dragged Geralt from his campus across the city to his little house so the two could meet, and they could go on all sorts of awesome adventures together. Jaskier even had a little journal, planning everything out. It would be perfect. 

“You talk about me?” Geralt asked, his voice rough, but playful. 

“Oh, just all the time, my dear,” Jaskier said, winking behind him. They almost were in their neighbourhood, and they were approaching the house. “I’m pretty sure she knows you better than yourself at this point.” 

They got to the highway that they must cross before they could continue, and Jaskier stretched a hand out. Geralt looked at it sceptically, and Jaskier huffed. “We’re crossing a very dangerous highway Geralt, we have to practice safety.” 

Geralt chuckled, and grabbed his hand. It was warm and rough, covered in calluses, and it easily dwarfed Jaskiers own. Jaskier blushed as it passed over. 

Okay, so he was in love with Geralt. What about it? How could anyone not be in love with him? The man looked like a fucking supermodel for God’s sake. He was broad and muscled, with the second most beautiful pair of eyes Jaskier had ever seen. 

(Nothing would ever top Yennefer's own lilac eyes, unfortunately, but they were close.) 

They ran across the highway, and Geralt didn’t let go of Jaskiers hand, so Jaskier didn’t either. They walked hand and hand down the street, and made it to Jaskiers house. The door was coloured bright purple, courtesy of Yennefer. 

“This is going to be amazing,” Jaskier laughed, then opened the door. 

Yennefer and Jaskier were two very different people; Yennefer was cold and frightening, but loyal to those who earned it. So far that was only Triss and Jaskier. Jaskier, however, was bright and cheerful, and full of so much love and trust. Their house reflected these differences. 

When they moved in, Jaskier had wanted to paint every wall with different pictures and colours. Yennefer had him to fuck off. It became a war between them; Yennefer came back one day to the kitchen covered in daisies, and very smug Jaskier. She retaliated by painting his room pitch black, which she knew Jaskier would hate. It escalated from there. 

The house looked like a fucking war zone. The walls were lined with paint marks and lines, had scribbled drawings and sayings before they had been attacked by the other. It was covered in flowers, and paintings, and Yennefer had hung up some ancient guns and weapons. It looked almost like a museum. 

Geralt had never been to Jaskiers house before, and Jaskier could see the thinly veiled shock as he looked around. 

“Yen, darling,” Jaskier called into the house. It echoed along the walls, and up an iron circle staircase. Stacks of books were piled at the bottom. “I have someone for you to meet.” 

“What do you do want, idiot,” Yennefer called back down, and Jaskier huffed. He looked at Geralt, as if he couldn’t believe what Yennefer had called him. 

“She’s always like this.” 

Geralt cocked an eyebrow. “She’s not wrong.” 

“What is this? Someone agreeing with me?” Yennefer emerged from the kitchen, wearing a pair of ripped black jeans, and what looked suspiciously like Jaskier’s missing denim jacket. She looked amazing as always. She tossed a kitchen cloth over her shoulder, and landed somewhere behind her. “I like him already.” 

Geralt snorted. “Did he also follow you around until you agreed to become friends with him too?” 

Yennefer smirked. “That is exactly what happened, how did you know?” 

“You guys are being very mean to me right now. Come on, you know you appreciate me, admit it.” Jaskier crossed his arms, feeling very ganged up upon. He pouted childishly, not meaning it seriously, and Yennefer laughed at him. 

“Of course I love you,” she said, leaning her arm on his shoulder, pinching his cheek harshly, and he let out a little ‘ow’. She sent a discreet wink towards Geralt, and Jaskier glowered even more. 

Yennefer let go of his shoulder and Jaskier mourned the warmth she brought him. 

So he was in love with Yennefer too. He had been since he was eight years old, and like Geralt, you couldn't blame him. Yennefer looked like she would throat stomp him wearing 10-inch heels, and Jaskier would welcome it. If Yennefer Vengerburg wanted to punch him in the face, he would allow her to do so. One time Yennefer had pinned him against the wall, and yelled in his face about how much of an idiot he was. That might’ve been the moment Jaskier realised he had a thing for people who could overpower him easily, because hot damn. 

He didn’t even know why he was introducing them; the sheer power of both their mutual attractiveness will probably kill him. But hey, whatta way to go, huh? And Jaskier always was an idiot. 

Yennefer approached Geralt, and held out her hand. Geralt took it, and they stared at each for a few tense seconds, before letting go. On each other's hands was a white hand print left behind from how hard they were gripping each other, like they were proving something to the other. Like they were challenging the other person. 

“Well,” Jaskier, clapping his hands together, ignoring the tension. “What’s for supper? I’m thinking pizza.” 

* * *

Yennefer climbed up the iron staircase once Geralt had left for his own tiny dorm on his campus. Her footsteps creaked, echoing through the house. 

Up the stairs was nothing special; it was a simple loft that didn’t even have walls, just a small balcony all around. It was where Jaskier slept, and was covered with blankets, books, and posters. The ceiling was full of fake flowers hanging down. They were fake because Jaskier got tired of the bugs crawling inside. 

Jaskier was just strumming his guitar when she came and plopped herself beside him. He didn’t even look up as she, just let her make her home on his bed. 

“Hey idiot,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. Jaskier hummed, and continued strumming absently. 

“Do you think ‘ _ I’m the dragon in your story’ _ is good or is ‘ _ I’ll be the dragon in your story’  _ better?” he asked, focusing on his next song. 

“The second one,” she said, “though they’re both horrible.” 

Jaskier sighed, and stopped his strumming. “Why am I friends with you?” 

“Because you were the idiot who approached me first, and now you can’t get rid of me,” she replied, sounding so deadpan. Jaskier laughed. 

They were silent for a few seconds, before Yennefer opened her mouth again. “Are you really friends with Geralt?” 

Jaskier put down his guitar, and Yennefer lifted her head from his shoulder. “Why are you asking? Do you not like him?” 

She shook her head. “I like him just fine, he just doesn’t seem-” she paused and searched for the right words. “Trustworthy. This isn’t going to be like De Stael, is it?” 

Jaskier laughed bitterly, trying not to think of his last lover. “Of course not, Geralt isn’t going to hurt me. Trust me Yen, I know what I’m doing.” 

Yennefer searched his face for any signs of lying, and Jaskier smiled softly. This was how she showed she cared, by worrying about him, while trying to appear emotionless. She really didn’t want him to be hurt again. “I’m fine Yen. Though it’s cute how much you care about me.” 

She scoffed. “I don't care about you, what are you talking about?” 

It was a familiar conversation, one they had almost every day. Jaskier hugged her tightly, trapping her arms, and she stiffened, before relaxing. “That’s what you’ve said since we were nine years old. You can leave if you want.” 

She reluctantly returned the hug. “As if you would let me.” She crawled under his blankets, and Jaskier let her spoon him, as they cuddled together, because that was what best friends did. 

Right?

* * *

Geralt and Yennefer were competing over something. Over what Jaskier didn’t know, but they were doing something behind his back. 

They were constantly glaring at each other, sizing each other up. Yennefer even wore her tallest heels so she could look Geralt right in his eyes as she insulted him. Jaskier didn’t think they would be this bad. He thought they would like each other, but he supposed he could have been wrong. He hated admitting it, but even geniuses had off days.

They were walking down the street, looking for a store to go into. Jaskier had gotten his money from his father, and wanted to go clothes shopping, and both Yennefer and Geralt volunteered to go with him, and give their opinion on his choices. 

Jaskier and his father had a tense relationship; his father still called him Julian. When Jaskier had come out as bisexual, his father had told him straight his his face that they didn’t exist. Told him he could love a man, or he could love a woman, but he couldn’t love both. Jaskier had left, and his father tried to call him back every month. Jaskier ignored his call. Whenever his phone rang, the familiar tune of  _ Fuck You _ by Lily Allen, Yennefer would snatch his phone, and not let him answer it, hiding in the bathroom with it until it stopped. 

However his father also sent money, and Jaskier could admit it was nice to be able to go shopping for new things every month. Sure, it was supposed to be used for rent, but Jaskier sang his songs, and earned enough money from that. 

That led him to right now, Yennefer and Geralt trying to drag him both ways at once. Jaskier's head spun as he was pulled on each limb. 

“Come look at this,” Yennefer called, jerking to the right, taking him to a little boutique where they sold silk blouses, and pantsuits, that looked like they would at least be $100 each. 

“What about this Jaskier?” Geralt asked, dragging him to the left, showing him some flamboyant coats, made of feathers and rhinestones. Geralt always made fun of Jaskier’s style, but now he was promoting it. They both were, complimenting him where they would have been insulting; Jaskier couldn’t understand it. 

“That is fucking ugly Jaskier,” Yennefer called, gripping his arm. Geralt glared at her over the top of Jaskiers head. “This store is more your style.” She jerked him harshly, and Geralt let go of his arm. Jaskier missed his warmth already, his hands wrapped around his wrist. 

She took him into a store full of ripped jeans, and Hawaiian shirts. “This would look good on you,” she said, holding up a bright pink shirt covered in flowers, the first one she saw. Jaskier took it, and threw it over his arm, agreeing with her. Geralt followed them, muttering under his breath. 

They spent the next few hours shopping around, Geralt and Yennefer still competing, trading insults and backhanded compliments. Jaskiers head swam between them. 

They stopped at a small sandwich place when Jaskier finally lost it, done with both their childishness. Geralt and Yennefer were showing him different parts of the menu, trying to see what he would prefer, and Jaskier had enough. 

“Guys what the fuck?” he asked, voice loud, and they both withdrew the menus. 

“What?” Yennefer asked, sounding surprised at his outburst. Geralt looked as equally as shocked, as if he didn’t know he had done wrong. 

“I really thought you guys would like each other!” He crossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair. The restaurant was nearly empty, and his voice carried over the entire store. “But you’re acting like children.” 

“Sorry,” they both muttered, sounding sheepish. Geralt scratched at his arm, and Yennefer looked away from him out the window. They both looked like siblings, fighting over their favourite toy. 

“At least try and get along, okay.” Jaskier stood up and brushed off his hands. “I need to go to the bathroom. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.” They both nodded in agreement, and he walked away from the table. 

When he returned, both were silent, looking a lot more relaxed and at ease. He sat back down suspiciously, looking between the two, looking for any signs of their hatred, but he couldn’t see any. 

Their food arrived, and they devoured it. Jaskier hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, and he was starving. The sandwich was expensive, but one of the best he had ever eaten. 

Jaskier spent the rest of the meal fuelling the conversation. Geralt and Yennefer refused to talk to each other, so Jaskier was in charge of talking, like he usually did, but it was better than when Geralt and Yennefer were fighting. Their silence was better than their fights. 

Towards the end of the meal, Jaskier left to go pay. When he came back, Yennefer and Geralt were exchanging phone numbers. They looked up, almost in shock, when Jaskier sat down, as if they were caught in a lie. 

“I knew you guys just needed a chance to get to know each other!” Jaskier exclaimed, and they both grunted, giving back the phone. 

Jaskier waved goodbye to Geralt, and walked back home with Yennefer, feeling happy his two friends were getting along. 

* * *

_ “Hey, hey, you dropped this,” eight year old Julian said, rushing after the girl. The girl was short, and hunchbacked, and her hair looked like it had been hacked off, but her eyes were like lilacs. Jaskier thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Jaskier tried to catch his breath as she turned and looked at him sceptically. He stood up, and handed her the book she dropped as she walked by.  _

_ “Thanks,” she muttered, grabbing it away from him harshly, and walking away. Jaskier huffed. Her eyes may have been beautiful, but she was tense and harsh, and Jaskiers father always said it wasn’t how someone looked, but the measure of their heart.  _

_ “There’s no reason to be rude,” he called after her, and she turned, fire in her eyes.  _

_ “I said thank you,” she snarled, looking ready to fight. She was angry, and Jaskier didn’t know what he did wrong, what he did to deserve her ire. “What more do you want?”  _

_ Jaskier huffed. “I’m just saying you don’t need to be mean,” he said, pouting. She glared and stalked towards him.  _

_ “You don’t understand a thing,” she growled, as terrifying as an eight year old could be, and shoved him hard. Jaskier fell back into the mud, soaking his new coat.  _

_ “Hey!” he yelled, face streaked with mud. Yennefer smirked at him, and walked away, limping. Jaskier wiped the dirt from his face, and decided right then he was going to approach her tomorrow. He wanted to know why she was angry, because if someone was mad, there had to be a reason why. He weirdly wanted to make it better for her.  _

* * *

Jaskier walked into the kitchen. Yennefer was sitting in a chair in a way no human should be able to, but she made it possible. Yennefer made a lot of things possible. She was smiling at her phone, and Jaskier tried to sneak up on her to see who she was texting, but she hid it when Jaskier went behind her. She always seemed to know when he was about to scare her. 

“Oh come on,” he whined, placing his chin on her shoulder. She patted his head comfortingly. “Who are you texting with? Who’s the lucky guy? Or gal,” he quickly amended, shaking his head, remembering Yennefer was bisexual like him. 

“Nah, I’m just texting Geralt. He’s actually fairly interesting. I can’t believe he’s participated in as many orgies as I have.” She said it so nonchalantly, and Jaskier nearly choked, wondering why they were discussing that. 

“Geralt has been to an orgy?” 

“Two,” she corrected, and Jaskier gaped. 

“I thought you only went to that one,” he gasped, standing up, and going around, looking at her in shock. “When was the other one?” 

“Like I would tell you,” she winked, and Jaskier huffed. 

“You two faced bitch,” he muttered, and Yennefer flipped him off, still staring at the screen. Her phone chimed, and she smiled, before texting back, her nails clicking against the screen. 

“It’s good that you two are getting along,” Jaskier commented, going into the kitchen to get something to eat. “After the last day, I thought all hope was lost.” 

“Nah, I still fucking hate him, but we have a mutual connection,” Yennefer answered, still looking at her phone. She didn’t look up at Jaskier, who was smiling softly at her. He grabbed a bag of chips, and went back upstairs to prepare for his next live show. 

* * *

_ “That was amazing,” Jaskier called, running after the man. The man was carrying a hockey bag, and his stick was in his other hand, held in a tight fist. “You are very talented, I can’t believe you haven’t been drafted yet. They must be blind or just stupid, because wow.”  _

_ The man turned to glare at him, and Jaskier was momentarily stunned by the gold in his eyes. “Stop following me,” he growled and Jaskier nearly swooned at his rough voice.  _

_ “Okay, first of all, too late. I’m already here.” The man sped up, and Jaskier had to walk faster to keep up with him. “Second of all, you have to let me write a song about you. It would be so amazing. I could write about all your achievements on the ice and such, and we could both get some publicity. What do you say?”  _

_ The man stopped, and Jaskier could see him rolling his eyes even from behind him. “Hey, come here,” the man beckoned, and Jaskier eagerly stepped forward. The stick was slammed into his gut, and he doubled over, the breath knocked from his lungs. “I said stop following me,” the man said, then walked away.  _

_ Jaskier watched him walk away and thought, “hot damn.”  _

_ Yennefer would probably kill him for going after the man who hurt him, but hey! What she didn’t know wouldn't kill her.  _

* * *

Geralt was texting, his large fingers tapping against the screen. Jaskier lifted his head from the desk to watch him type. “Who are you texting?” he asked, voice slow and sleepy. He had just woken up from a nap at Geralt’s. They had gone to his dorm to do some studying, and they must have fallen asleep at some point. Jaskier would have to buy better coffee because his new brand was shit. 

“No one,” Geralt said, and Jaskier groaned dramatically. 

“You’re a dirty, filthy liar, y’know?” he said, aware he sounded like a child. “Not telling your best friend about your secrets, how rude.” 

“You’re not my best friend.” 

“And there you go again, lying even more!” Jaskier pointed an accusing finger in Geralt’s direction, and the man looked at him with a deadpan expression. “Is it really so bad to tell your not-best friend who you’re texting?” 

“Yes,” Geralt grunted, and returned his eyes to his phone. Then, “Yennefer.” 

Jaskier sat up straight, surprised. “I knew you two would like each other! Go ahead and say it. I’m amazing and always correct.” He felt smug, happy his two friends were getting along. Soon he could bring out the journal, and they could start checking things off of the lists he made of super awesome, fun activities for them to do together. 

Was it childish? Yes. Was he fucking excited anyway? Also yes. 

“You’re real fucking annoying, that’s what you are,” Geralt said, throwing a pillow in Jaskiers direction, and he let out an offended yelp as the pillow hit him in the face, knocking him down. 

“How rude,” Jaskier pouted. “Why am I friends with people who do nothing but abuse me? It’s like I have no one who truly cares about me!” 

“Your fault,” Geralt muttered, still texting, and Jaskier sat back down, smiling wide. 

* * *

It had been a few weeks since Jaskier first introduced the two, and he was ecstatic at how well the two seemed to get along. 

Well, maybe getting along weren’t the right words. The two still traded barbs and insults back and forth like it was their jobs, but they would text each other constantly, and Jaskier caught them smiling down at their phone more than once. He didn’t know why they insisted on lying to him about the other though. 

He decided that he could trust them being together once again, and started planning a dinner for the three of them. He knew an amazing place on the south side of the city that made amazing steaks, and he was excited to show them it. It had been his secret place for so long, and he was desperate to introduce someone. 

He got dressed as well as he could, wearing a frilly white shirt, and black dress pants with gold buttons. He considered putting on makeup, but decided against it. He didn’t have anyone to impress that night, not did he want to waste the little he had left. 

He met up with Yennefer at the bottom of the stairs, and she looked fucking amazing like she always did; Jaskier wished he had her makeup skills. Her eyeliner was sharp, and her eye shadow a bright purple. She smirked at him as he stumbled slightly at the bottom, and he smiled boyishly up at her. She offered him her arm, and he placed his hand at her elbow. They walked out, and began their walk to the restaurant. Geralt would be meeting them there. 

Geralt was waiting for them, and he frowned when he saw Yennefer, and Jaskier wondered how they could still hate each other after texting everyday for nearly three weeks. It didn’t make any sense to him. 

Yennefer led him into the restaurant, and Geralt followed behind. It smelled amazing inside, and Jaskier breathed deeply, then pouted when Yennefer laughed at him. They found an empty table, and a waiter came up to them, passing them the menus, and a glass of water. 

Jaskier eagerly looked through, looking for something good. Yennefer and Geralt sat across from him, beside each other. He eventually picked out the pork ribs, and Yennefer got the same. Geralt got the lobster, and Jaskier was already planning to steal from his plate. 

“So Geralt,” Jaskier asked, after the waiter took their order and walked away, “how was your game today?” 

“It was good,” Geralt replied. “We won by four points.” 

“That’s amazing,” Jaskier said, clapping his hands excitedly. “Just like I knew you would. Did you get any goals?” 

Geralt nodded his head, and Yennefer sighed. “Do you ever actually use your words?” she said, voice sharp, and Jaskier reached across the table to slap her gently on the shoulder. 

Geralt glared at her, and Yennefer glared back. Jaskier looked between the two with growing worry; so much for his journal project. And he had worked so hard on it too. 

“Guys stop, we’re here to eat, not to get into a fight. And I thought you guys were getting along, what the hell?” 

Both sat back with a huff, momentarily subdued, and Jaskier turned to Geralt once again, continuing their conversation. “Anyway, do you think you’ll get drafted soon?” 

“It’s not the entry draft yet Jaskier,” Geralt responded. “It will be soon though. Maybe then I will.” 

“Is that what you’re planning on doing after school? Hockey?” Yennefer asked. 

“Yeah it is. What are you doing?” 

She scoffed. “I’m going to be a doctor, not some stupid hockey player. Honestly, that’s the sport of toxic masculinity, you can’t tell me I’m wrong. You look like your tinder profile would be a picture of your truck.” Geralt growled slightly under his breath, and  _ damn _ Jaskier thought, that shouldn't be as hot as it was. 

Yennefer also wasn’t wrong in the slightest. Jaskier thought Geralt had some sort of sexual relationship with his truck, because fuck, no one should love their vehicle that much. 

“Okay, we’re talking about what we wanna do after college,” Jaskier said, a bit desperately, trying to break up the tension in the air. “I want to go to the coast, maybe live in a little cottage, bake some bread, y’know?” 

“That sounds cool,” Yennefer said, finally tearing her eyes away from Geralt. “It’s at least better than what he wants.” 

Jaskier sighed. Fuck, he was in for a long night. 

The waiter brought out their food after a few more minutes, and Jaskier was never more grateful for something in his life. It gave them something else to do than argue, because when they were eating, they couldn’t talk. Yennefer and Geralt had continued fighting, even when Jaskier finally gave up, and went on his phone under the table. 

He was just thinking that maybe the dinner wouldn’t be a complete horrible disaster when he saw someone enter the restaurant. He automatically ducked his head, almost slamming his face into his pork. Yennefer and Geralt both looked at him strangely, and paused their arguing. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, praying to every god he could think of, wishing he was religious, and that praying actually did something for him. 

“What’s wrong Jaskier?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier hushed him. 

“Don’t say my name,” he hissed, kicking Geralt from under the table. “She’s here, she can’t know I’m here as well. Fuck.” 

Geralt looked confused, but Yennefer's eyes widened in understanding. “She’s here?” she asked, whispering fervently. He nodded, and her eyes filled with rage, almost glowing with it. Yennefer was pissed, and Jaskier was terrified, and slightly turned on at her anger. “Where’s the bitch?” she hissed, sounding like she was ready to kill someone. 

“Who?” Geralt asked, and Yennefer turned to him. Jaskier could hear the woman laughing over the tables, and he cringed. It was like the heartbreak was just as fresh as it was a year ago, when she told him to go to hell, and he cried for five months. 

“De Stael,” Yennefer explained, then rolled her eyes when Geralt didn’t seem to get it. “It’s the woman who broke Jaskiers heart a year ago. I swore if I ever saw her again, I would slap her for hurting him.” 

“Yennefer, it’s fine, I just need to get out of here,” Jaskier said, still hunched over. He wondered if it would look suspicious if he put his coat over his head, then decided that would be worse. 

“It’s not fucking fine Jaskier,” Yennefer snapped, sounding so angry, and so full of power. “She wasn’t the one who had to watch you nearly kill yourself in your grief. You barely ate or slept during that time, don’t you remember? She never fucking deserved you Jaskier, she doesn’t get to do that to you without consequences.” 

Geralt still looked confused, but he was slowly becoming angry too, like it didn’t matter who it was, only that Jaskier was hurt. It was sweet of them, to want to defend him so quickly, and Jaskier felt his heart warm. It had been so long since the drama with De Stael, and he was better, if not getting there, and he didn’t need someone to rescue him. But it still made him happy, made him feel like he was cared for. 

“Confronting her will just be worse Yennefer,” Jaskier begged, wishing he could leave. He had already paid with the meal, and he could leave when he wanted, he just needed to make sure De Stael didn’t see him. 

Geralt sighed. “Which one is De Stael?” Yennefer pointed to one of the women sitting at the nearby table, looking like she was ready to just go over there and kick her in the face. Yennefer could probably do it too. “Follow me,” he said, and stood up, then went around, blocking the view for De Stael, where Yennefer had pointed. Jaskier shifted slowly out of his seat, and Yennefer followed him blocking the other side. 

They slowly made their way through the restaurant like this, Yennefer and Geralt flanking Jaskier, making sure no one could see him. They were almost in at the door when:

“Jaskier! Darling! I haven't seen you in forever. How have you been?” 

Fuck. Jaskier cringed, and went to turn around, already regretting coming to the restaurant. He was about to say something when he felt Geralt wrap his arm around Jaskiers bicep, and tug him through the door. The last thing he heard before the door slammed shut was De Stael's offended gasp. 

The night was cool, and Jaskier could hear the city around him. “Thank God,” he muttered, breathing heavily. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened back there?” Geralt asked, sounding angry, but not at Jaskier, rather at the woman inside. Jaskier was about to answer when the sound of shattering glass came from inside the restaurant, and someone screamed. They both looked around and noticed Yennefer wasn’t with them. 

Fuck, Jaskier didn’t want to spend his dads thousand dollar pity check on a jail bail. Again. 

Another screamed sounded through the air, and Geralt sighed. “I’ll get her. You go home Jaskier, don’t worry.” He gently shoved Jaskier forward, then turned back into the restaurant. 

Jaskier watched him leave. “Okay then,” he said to himself, then began to walk home alone, already planning to text Yennefer as soon as he got back to their place. 

* * *

He slowly entered Geralt's dorm room with the key he stole that Geralt still thought he lost. Yennefer hadn’t gone home last night, even though he waited almost all night for her, and she wasn’t answering her texts either. Neither was Geralt. 

He hoped the two were okay. They really didn’t need to do that for him, he could have handled De Stael by himself. It would have been painfully awkward and horrible, but he could have done it. They didn’t need to defend him, though it made him happy they did. 

He walked through the empty dorm like a ghost. He looked around for any clues someone was there, had come home last night, then noticed Geralt’s leather jacket tossed on the floor, the one he wore last night. “Really, he needs to start taking better care of his things,” Jaskier huffed, picking it up and draping it on the chair next to him. Where would Geralt be without him? 

“Probably using that stupid three-in-one shit,” Jaskier muttered to himself, remembering the heart attack he nearly had when he realised what Geralt showered with, then forced him to go shopping for something better. That had been one hell of a day. He almost felt bad for Geralt. 

He wandered in deeper, and the silence was nearly stifling. He looked at the door leading into Geralt’s roommates bedroom, then moved past. He pressed on the door to Geralt’s room, and pressed on the door to open it. It swung open easily and Jaskier stepped into the room. 

He could see Geralt sleeping peacefully on the bed, his form laying there still. Jaskier felt a flash of relief fill him when he realised Geralt was okay. “Hey wake up sleepyhead,” Jaskier yelled, wanting to thank Geralt for last night. He wondered if he should run and leap at the man too, for that little extra bit of terror. 

“Jaskier what the fuck?” Geralt said getting up, and turning over, looking sleepy. 

“Yeah Jaskier what the fuck?” Yennefer said from next to him, topless, and Jaskier screamed. 

* * *

The smell of burning bread filled the cottage. Sam’s nostrils itched as Jaskier hopped up from the kitchen table in a whirl of flour. “Oh no, my bread!” He sounded shocked and upset, and Sam felt like she should say something. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, because she couldn’t help but feel like it was her fault. Jaskier pulled the bread out of the stone oven with a copper paddle, and dropped the blackened hunk on the counter. He looked at it sadly. 

“It’s not your fault darling,” Jaskier said, looking at her. “It’s mine, I should have been paying better attention to the bread.” 

Outside the sun was setting, and the frogs chirped, their music filling the air. Sam knew her grandmother would be waking up soon. “Are you going to continue the story?” she asked. 

“Not today, I need to remake this so I can have dinner tomorrow,” Jaskier replied, opening the windows to clear out the smoky smell. “Come back tomorrow if you really want to know the rest.” 

Sam could recognise a dismissal when she heard one, so she hopped down from the chair, and nodded her head in Jaskier’s direction. “Thank you for telling me.” 

“It’s no problem,” Jaskier smiled at her, and waved goodbye as she left. Her questions about love hadn’t been answered, about why it hurt so much watching someone be with someone else, so she resolved to come back the next day. 

She made it back home just as her grandmother woke up from her nap. “Hello sweetie,” she yawned, wrapping Sam in a tight hug. She was still wrapped in a quilted blanket. “What did you do all day while I was asleep?” 

“I hung out around the farm,” Sam lied, hugging her back. Her father got home from the farmers market, and waved at her before heading upstairs to sleep, tired from working all day. Sam barely ever saw him anymore. 

“I better start making supper then,” her grandmother said, letting Sam go, and walking into the kitchen. Sam could hear the pots and pans clattering together, and she couldn’t believe she had gotten away with her lie. That was the first time for her. Her mother could sniff out lies like a bloodhound. 

The next day, Sam prepared a basket full of fruits and vegetables from their farm for Jaskier as payment. She was walking up the cliffs when her friend Gabe ran up to her, Annie in tow. She was wearing a lacy dress that looked like something out of a fairy tale, and Sam still hated her. 

Gabe was her best friend ever since they were babies. He was tall and lanky, with bright red hair, and blue eyes. He was covered head to foot in freckles, looking like stars on his skin, and Sam had used them to practice counting when she was younger. 

“Where are you heading?” he asked her, panting from running. Annie walked behind him, the only one not running, looking so dignified. 

“I’m on my way to Jaskiers,” Sam replied. “He’s telling me a story about him. I got these for him.” 

“My mom said that we shouldn’t bother Jaskier, and that he’s recovering from something horrible,” Annie recited, her voice soft, almost like a princess. It wasn’t fair that Annie got to look like all of them, and Sam only got Merida. Sam glowered at her. 

“Well, he welcomed me into his house,” she said, perhaps a bit more snotty than she wanted. A flash of hurt went across Annies face, and Sam refused to feel bad, even though she did a little. 

“Can we come with you?” Gabe asked, sounding excited. “I wanna see his house too.” 

Sam considered it, then decided that Jaskier wouldn’t mind her friend and enemy coming with her. “Fine,” she relented. “But I’ll have to catch you up on what happened.” 

Gabe cheered, and Annie smiled. They started walking along the cliffs, Gabe talking excitedly, and Sam telling them what Jaskier said the other day. Annie listened silently. They eventually made it to his house, and Sam went through the wire gate. She went up the door and knocked, three quick raps. 

No one answered. 

She knocked again, and then again. Nobody came. “Do you even know him?” Gabe asked, sounding sceptical, and Sam felt herself grow angry. 

“Of course I know him stupid,” she growled, and Gabe rolled up his sleeves, as if he was about to punch her. Sam was about to drop the basket and fight him, but then Annie interrupted. 

“Guys look,” she pointed, and the two turned their gaze to where her finger was. Jaskier was sitting up by the cliffs, his instrument in his lap, looking out into the ocean. Now that Sam was paying attention, she could hear the music in the wind, being carried through the air. She looked sheepishly at Gabe, a silent apology, and the three of them walked over to where he sat. 

He looked up when they approached. “Oh, hello there Sam.” He looked behind her at Gabe and Annie. “And you’ve brought friends too. Who are you two?” 

“That’s Gabe, and Annie,” Sam said. Gabe waved at Jaskier, and Annie curtseyed. Sam almost threw up watching her, acting like a perfect little princess. 

“They want to hear the story too,” Sam explained, and Jaskier nodded in understanding. She held out the basket of fruits and vegetables out to him. “I brought you this as payment.” 

“That is very kind of you,” Jaskier said, taking it gratefully. “That’s perfectly fine that you brought your friends. I’m assuming you’ve caught them up, or do I need to restart?” Sam shook her head, and he nodded. “Okay. gather around then, and I’ll continue.” He set aside his instrument, and the child clustered around him, sitting in the grass. The ocean roared beneath the cliffs, but Jaskier didn’t seem worried. 

“Where did I leave off last time?” 

“You found them together in Geralt’s apartment,” Sam offered, and Jaskier tapped his chin thoughtfully. 

“Oh, of course, how could I forget. Anyway, after I found them together, it was very awkward between us for a few days after…” 

* * *

“I swear that I hate him,” Yennefer said. Jaskier was on her bed, holding one of pillows close to his body. Yennefer was leaning against the wall, leaning out of the open window, smoking. The smoke curled around her head, and the cigarette burned red. Jaskier wrinkled his nose in disgust. He hated cigarette smoke, but Yennefer didn’t want to quit. 

“Bullshit,” Jaskier scoffed, “I literally saw you in bed together.” 

“You of all people should know better, Jaskier. Sex doesn’t always equal love. I hate him, but even I have to admit he’s hot. It was a one time thing.” 

Jaskier held the pillow close to his chest, and contemplated that. 

Yes, it had hurt him to see them together. He had been trying to get into bed with both of them since the end of time, and it seemed like they rejected all of his advances. He loved both of them, and to see them together made him feel worthless, like he wasn’t good enough for them. 

But that was what it was, wasn’t it? Yennefer was a strong, powerful woman who would one day hold the world in her grasp. Geralt was strong as well, and Jaskier knew he would one day be seeing him on TV, playing in the big leagues. Where did Jaskier fit with them there, in that beautiful, glamorous world they would enter after school? Jaskier wanted simple; he wanted his songs to be well known and well loved by a few, but he also wanted to settle down, to live his dream of a small cottage on the coast. Geralts and Yennefer future mansions had no place on tiny islands. 

“I can hear you thinking from over here. What’s going on in that tiny pea sized brain of yours?” Yennefer asked, and Jaskier knew she didn’t mean it.

He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t open his mouth to get the words out. He wished he could, but it wasn’t time yet. He doubted it would ever be. So instead he just said, “Nothing much my dear. I was just wondering when Geralt became your type? I thought you liked the cute ones.” 

Yennefer finished her cigarette, and came sauntering over to him. “He isn't my type, idiot,” she said, flicking his head. “It was a one time thing, trust me. Me and him won’t ever be seeing each other again.” 

Jaskier hummed, deciding to trust her. He contented himself in the fact that it wouldn’t be happening again. 

* * *

It happened again. And again. And again. 

“Agh! Jesus fuck guys,” Jaskier screamed, covering his eyes as he slammed Yennefers bedroom door shut. He just wanted her opinion on some song lyrics, not a mental image that made him want to go to church and pray his sins away. He could hear Yennefer laughing as he walked away, heart burning in his chest. 

He felt like a stranger in his own home, as if he was being pushed out. He regretted ever letting them meet, wished he could go back and slapped past him so he wouldn't even consider them being friends. Fuck his journal, fuck his plans. Them never meeting was better than this. 

“Lock the door next time,” he muttered as Yennefer walked out after a few minutes, Geralt in tow. They both looked smug, and Jaskier burned with jealousy. 

“Next time knock,” Yennefer responded casually, as if Jaskier hadn’t just walked in on them having sex. She reached into the cupboards for some cereal. 

“Start doing it somewhere else. Honestly, I need some brain bleach because that was incredibly emotionally scarring. I’ll need to get some therapy because of that bullshit.” 

“You’re just being dramatic,” Geralt grunted, sitting down. His long hair was pulled back in a bun, and Jaskier wanted to let it down, to pull the tie out, and let it spill over his shoulder. “It’s not like you’ve seen people have sex before.” 

“Not my two best friends!” Fuck, friends. Jesus Christ, was he fucking friend-zoned? He didn’t like to think of that. “I’m traumatised for life after that.” 

Yennefer rolled her eyes at Geralt, and Geralt smiled back. Jaskier watched them have their silent conversation, noticing something different in their eyes, like their hatred was turning into something more. 

* * *

“I hate her Jaskier,” Geralt insisted after the game, the two of them walking out of the arena. It was a very windy day, and Jaskier’s coat billowed behind him. 

“Sure you do,” Jaskier said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Is that why she’s spent nearly every night of this week over at your place?” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, throwing his bag into the back of Roach. 

Roach was his truck, the one Jaskier thought Geralt loved more than life, and Jaskier fucking hated her. The truck was old, falling apart, covered in dirt and other things, smelled like gas, and Geralt loved her. Sometimes it seemed like the fucking truck got more attention than Jaskier.

Imagine competing with a fucking truck. Jaskier has fallen so low in the world. He used to have standards, but now it seemed like the bar was on the floor. The things he did to get the attention of Geralt, honestly. 

“Geralt, you can admit when you like someone. Heaven knows you need that emotional intimacy.” 

Geralt glared at him, and Jaskier smiled cheekily back. “Get in the truck before I leave you behind,” Geralt grunted, then got into the vehicle. Jaskier went into the passenger seat, and Geralt drove out of the parking lot. 

“Don’t touch the radio,” Geralt barked when he saw Jaskiers inching towards the dial, and Jaskier snapped his hand back. And for a while, that was the end of it. 

* * *

Yennefer and Geralt were planning something. Jaskier watched as they talked, heads put together, discussing something important without him. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Jaskier said, dropping himself right next to Geralt, almost in his lap, his legs over Geralt's thighs. Geralt looked down at him, and grunted. “Use your words my dear,” Jaskier teased. 

“We’re just planning on meeting next week. There is this event both of us want to go to, a punk band that’s coming to the city we both enjoy,” Yennefer answered. 

Jaskier stopped. “Oh,” he said, feeling something in him grow cold. 

So they were going out together too. It wasn’t just texting, and a frankly concerning amount of sex. Jaskier felt his heart clench painfully, and forced back the tears that threatened to appear. He refused to look weak in front of them. Yennefer must have noticed something in his expression, because she started talking again.

“We didn’t think you’d care, you don’t like punk, but we can get you an extra ticket if you want,” she said, exchanging a glance with Geralt. 

If there was one thing Jaskier lived by is that he wasn’t willing to be a third wheel for anyone. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. “Nah, it’s fine, I don’t like the music you two listen to. I was just shocked, that’s all. And you two try to convince me you hate each other.” 

Yennefer searched his face for a few more seconds, not finding anything wrong. If there was anything Jaskiers father had taught him was to hide his emotions when it mattered. She huffed. “He’s just the only one that shares my taste in music, and I’m not going alone. It’s for convenience, nothing more.” 

“Sure,” Jaskier said, disbelieving, then got up from Geralt’s lap, unwilling to remain where he wasn’t wanted. He left the room, and headed to his room, feeling lightheaded. 

* * *

There was a party going on in third street. An abandoned house sat right on the corner. Jaskier knew the person throwing the party, and had gotten personally invited. He dragged Yennefer and Geralt, one of their hands in each of his, knowing full well they could both bench press him if they wanted to, and they were only humouring him when he pulled them along. 

The house was already full of flashing lights and dancing bodies. It was full of sweet smelling smoke, and a table full of alcohol was already half drunk. Jaskier kept his hands wrapped around Yennefers and Geralt, not wanting to get lost among the bodies. 

“It’s too loud in here,” Yennefer screamed over the pulsing music, and Jaskier strained to hear him. He saw someone he knew, and dragged them over to say hi. 

Yennefer didn’t say anything else, so Jaskier shrugged and continued moving through the crowd, hoping to find an empty place after greeting them. He found an empty couch, and shoved Yennefer and Geralt onto it with a thump. It was covered in stains of something Jaskier didn’t want to think about. 

“I’m going to go dance,” he said, and Geralt nodded. Yennefer smiled at him, all pointy teeth, and Jaskier shuddered. He walked away from them to go dance, and he could still see them on the couch, heads together, talking. 

Someone shoved a cup full of a weird smelling liquid at him, and he drank it. His head buzzed, and the music moved through him, the vibrations making him shake. He looked around, but it was too dark, and too loud, so he instead let himself go, and began to dance. 

It was getting hot, and Jaskier could feel himself flush bright red. People were at the corners watching as the people moved about, talking among themselves, screaming over the music.

Someone wrapped their arms around Jaskier and he startled. He turned around and it was a man he had never seen before. The man smiled at him, and Jaskier wasn’t drunk enough for this, so he took a sip of the drink he was offered. He continued dancing, the man's arms around his waist, until it was hard to think. He could have sworn he saw Yennefer watching him, a strange expression on her face, but it didn’t feel real, almost instead like his imagination. 

He grew tired, and went off the dance floor to get something to drink. The man followed him, and now that it was lighter, Jaskier could see him properly. He had blonde hair and hazel eyes, and was quite tall. He had an arrogant air to him that pissed Jaskier off right away, but hey, at least he was hot. 

“I’m Jake,” the man said, watching as Jaskier poured himself a glass of something that Jaskier couldn’t recognise, but smelled strong.

“I’m Jaskier,” he replied, drinking some of a liquid, and automatically coughing. He tried to remember if he had been with someone, then remembered his friends he left behind. 

“Would you like to get out of here?” Jake asked, and Jaskier considered it. But he didn’t want to leave Yennefer and Geralt behind without a warning, just in case he ended up being murdered and they had to go to the police. 

“I need to find my friends first,” Jaskier promised, and the man nodded. Jaskier started walking around trying to find his friends. He couldn’t see them on the couch anymore, like they had just disappeared. He checked his phone, but there were no text messages either. 

He left the room, and the music became muted, and everything went darker. Jaskier wandered around, trying to find them. He poked his head into every room, and got an eyeful of things he wished he could forget, but they weren’t anywhere. He couldn’t see them inside the house, so he tried outside. 

It was night time outside, and the sky was full of stars. It felt surreal being outside when he could still hear the party going full blast. It felt like he shouldn’t be outside, the silence crushing his lungs. The garden was overgrown, and the ivy plants towered over him, like a monster. 

He saw a shadowy figure by the fence, and he walked towards it on unsteady feet, wondering if it were his friends. He managed to get a few more steps before he recognised them. 

Well, he was right. They were outside. 

Geralt was pushing Yennefer up against the fence, and they were kissing passionately. Jaskier could hear them, Yennefer moaning slightly. It felt so private, intimate, and Jaskier didn’t believe for a second they hated each other. 

He felt embarrassed and wrong watching them, and he forced his eyes away. His heart burned with fire, and he wanted to never see then again. 

He spun on his heel, happy they were safe, but he wasn’t willing to bother then with his problem. If he was murdered, well then, so be it. Gods plan y’know? He went back into the party with a single minded determination, and found Jake, where he was waiting for Jaskier. 

“You find them?” Jake asked, and Jaskier didn’t answer, a first for him, just gripped his hand tight, and dragged him upstairs, desperately wanting to forget what he just saw, and Jake seemed like the perfect distraction. 

The next morning, when they were safely back home, Yennefer and Geralt approached him, hands clasped together, looking at each other almost shyly, and Jaskier could feel something in his heart shatter and scatter in the wind, never to be seen again. 

At least it would be good song material. Heartbreak sells. 

* * *

Thunder sounded in the distance, and Jaskier looked up. Dark clouds were approaching the island. His eyes were sad, as if it were painful to remember, and Sam wanted him to continue talking.

“I think we should stop for now,” Jaskier said, his voice soft. “It’s about to storm, and we wouldn’t want you kids to be caught in the rain.” 

Gabe and Sam automatically began to protest, but Annie stood up, and brushed off her dress, dirt and grass falling to the ground. “Come on guys, we can finish tomorrow,” she said, and offered her hand to Sam. Sam pointedly didn’t take it, and Annie withdrew it with a sigh. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow sir,” Sam called over her shoulder as she walked away from the rocks. Jaskier waved goodbye, and stayed outside, even as it began to rain, staring out into the stormy sea. Sam wondered what he could be thinking about. She hoped he would go inside soon, so he wouldn’t get a cold. 

The three children ran as fast as they could down the hill, hoping to beat the rain, but they were unsuccessful. The rain was coming down faster and faster, almost like hail. Gabe turned halfway through, his house somewhere far away from the town. Sam waved goodbye to him, promising to meet him tomorrow. 

Sam and Annie continued running, the rain soaking them. It was coming down so hard, it was almost impossible to find the road. They looked around desperately, before Annie pointed, looking where the grass stopped, and mud was forming. They had found the road. The two girls ran towards it, and got mud all over their shoes, but Sam didn’t care. Her legs were streaked with mud, washing off in the rain. 

Sam's house came into view after a few minutes, and she could see the lights of the town as well where Annie would have to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Annie promised, then continued running down, going home. Sam watched her leave, then went into her own house. 

Her grandmother was waiting for her, and hugged her tight when she saw Sam. “Oh my Lord, I was so worried about you,” she said, voice strangled. Her own sweater was getting soaked from Sam, but her grandmother didn’t seem to care. “Next time tell me where you’re going, okay?” 

“Of course grandmother,” Sam replied. “I’m sorry.” Her grandmother pulled away, then began pulling Sam’s dirty, wet clothes off of her. Beside her was a clean towel, which she used to scrub the rest of the dirt away. 

“Let's get these washed up, and you into some warm clothes. My dear, you’ll catch a cold. Here,” she passed Sam a warm nightgown, and Sam put it on, feeling better, “I made some soup. Get some inside you so you’ll get warm.” 

“Where's dad?” Sam asked, walking into the kitchen, smelling the onion soup bubbling on the stove. It smelled heavenly, and Sam’s mouth watered. She hadn't even realised how hungry she was. 

“He and Edward are over at Old John's place,” her grandmother replied, sounding exasperated. 

Old John was their next door neighbour, and lived across the fence from them. Her father hated him, and the two had quite a fierce rivalry, which made them blind to Edward and Old John’s daughter, Ann’s, secret romance. Edward had made Sam promise not to tell when she caught them kissing, and Sam would stick to her promise. 

Sam drank her soup, then her grandmother led her upstairs to her room to tuck her in. She pulled the blankets up to Sam’s chin, and kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight sweetie,” she said, and Sam said it back. The bed was warm, and the cold was slowly seeping out of her. 

She left alone in her room, the candle slowly dying out, and Sam began thinking about Jaskier, and what he had told them. 

She hated Yennefer and Geralt; how dare they make Jaskier feel so bad that he ran far away just to get away from them? 

It reminded her of Bryan and Annie. Why was she considered not enough between the three? Shouldn’t she despise them both the same way she despised Yennefer and Geralt? 

The thing was, she didn’t hate Annie over what happened with Bryan. That thought shocked her; shouldn’t she hate her? Annie stole Bryan from her, but was it really Annies fault? It was Bryan’s choice, his unwillingness to let her wear a suit, even though Jaskier said it didn’t matter who wore the dress and who wore the suit at the wedding. 

Maybe it was because Annie was pretty, and she looked like every delicate Disney princess every little girl wishes she could be. But Sam was perfectly okay with having Merida, so it couldn’t be that. 

Sam flipped over in her bed, trying to figure it out. She would have to ask Jaskier later, when Annie wasn’t around, about what she was feeling. She slowly sunk into slumber, her thoughts flying all over the place, as darkness overtook her.

She woke up the next day. The sun was shining, the calm after the storm, and Sam slowly got dressed, prepared to hear the last bit of Jaskiers story. 

“Where are you heading, loser?” Edward asked as she walked downstairs. Edward was sixteen years old, and was tall and skinny, but with muscles on his arms from hauling water buckets. He was quite smart, and Sam felt bad that he was going to inherit the farm because he would do well in college. He was, however, like every older brother, and sometimes Sam wished she was strong enough to push him into the sea. 

“I’m heading out to play,” Sam replied, grabbing a piece of buttered bread for her breakfast. She wasn’t willing to tell him the truth, didn’t know if he would actually keep her secret. Older brothers were very fickle like that. 

“Have fun then, I guess,” he replied, then headed upstairs, and Sam watched him go, before walking out the back. She left their house, and began to walk up to the cliffs. On her way there, a shiny rock caught her attention, and she thought that maybe that would be enough payment for Jaskier. She picked it up, and thought she could hear twinkling laughter in the distance, like bells. 

Gabe and Annie met up with her on the hill, but behind Gabe was Ethan, Gabes little four year old brother. “He wanted to hear the story too,” Gabe explained, and Sam allowed him to come. Ethan was silent as they walked, holding onto Gabes hand tightly. 

Annie was looking as beautiful as she usually did, wearing her mother's handmade dresses, with red ribbons in her hair, and Sam had to avert her eyes. She still didn’t know why she hated Annie. Maybe it was just something unexplainable, like the oceans or the stars.

They began walking up to the cliffs where Jaskier was waiting for them in his garden. Sam handed him the rock, and he thanked her warmly. He didn’t look as sad as he did last night, looking he had recovered, so Sam felt better about asking him for the story. Annie brought payment too, a shiny gold coin, and Jaskier told her to keep it instead. He shook Ethans hand, then led them into his house, where he had laid out blankets and pillows on the floor. 

“There weren't enough chairs for all of you,” he explained, and then passed out some pastries, which the children eagerly gobbled up, getting sugar and syrup on their hands. He laughed at their hastiness, then sat down with them. 

Sam watched as he steeled himself for the ending, and Sam wondered what happened to him. The air is tense, full of static, and they were nearing the conclusion, Sam could taste it, the way she tasted the cinnamon on her tongue from Jaskier’s pastries. Maybe now she would finally understand heartbreak when he told them why he had run far away from the American city. 

“Now where was I? Jaskier said, then b rightened when he remembered. Sam eagerly sat forward, ready to hear the conclusion. “They had just announced they were dating and obviously I was very brokenhearted…” 

* * *

Jaskier thought he knew heartbreak; thought the horrible hurt he had felt after De Stael left him was as bad as it got. He had written so many songs from it, songs that brought people to tears when they heard them, and he thought he was an expert. 

He was wrong. So very fucking wrong. 

With De Stael, it had left a wound on his heart for months after. His heart was scarred, broken, wrapped in bandages and band aids, but it would heal. That was what Yennefer used to say, it would heal eventually. It would scar, yes, and sometimes the hurt would come back to him in the middle of night, leaving him sobbing in his bed, but it would heal. And she was right. 

After seeing Yennefer and Geralt, however, he knew he was wrong. This was the worst kind of heartbreak there was. He had never felt such a pain. It felt like nothing was there, like his heart had decided to go numb. Like the pieces of his shattered heart had blown away, and it wasn’t there anymore. He felt its loss; a giant hole inside of him that was bleeding out, but it didn’t feel his heart was inside of him anymore. The wind had it now; he didn’t know where it was taking the pieces. 

After Yennefer and Geralt told him they were dating, Jaskier smiled, laughed, shook both their hands, played the overprotective “don’t you dare hurt each other” part, then went home. Yennefer was going to Geralt’s dorm, and Jaskier cried himself to sleep that night. 

He was right; heartbreak sells, but he couldn’t bring himself to sing a single note of the new songs he had written about it. They had all his feelings poured out inside of them, and he couldn’t sing a single note, so he closed his notebook, and left it on his desk. 

“So you two don’t hate each other,” he had said the day they announced it, trying to keep the tremble from his voice, trying to sound happy for them. 

Yennefer had laughed bitterly. “We still hate each other, but damn, we’re walking a fine line.” Geralt had nodded his agreement. 

He didn’t know what that meant, but one of his new songs was named  _ Fine Line  _ so he assumed it was important. 

It was funny, because even when they said they were dating, they still acted like they hated each other. They would yell and scream, and Jaskier didn’t know why they would stay together. He wanted soft love, happy love, and whatever Geralt and Yennefer had wasn’t that. He didn’t know why they even still tolerated each other, still had their private competition for Jaskiers attention, and he didn’t understand. 

If they were teasing him, playing with his feelings, he promised himself he would leave. 

Geralt and Yennefer had been dating for three months, three months of pure hell for Jaskier, when Jaskier got the call. 

They were playing monopoly, and Geralt and Yennefer were competing harshly against each other, yelling insults across the table. Jaskier selfishly wished that they would break up, and he could spend months building up their relationship again, manipulating it to his whims. He was called silver tongue by his classmates for a reason after all. He knew he could do it. 

Yennefer was just about ready to flip the table over, when Jaskier’s phone started to ring. “I need to take this,” Jaskier said, grateful to be pulled away, and Yennefer nodded, not tearing her lilac eyes away from Geralt. Jaskier sighed, then walked away, going into the silent hallway. 

“Hello?” he said. 

The voice on the other end spoke. 

His phone clattered to the floor, and his hands shook. The voice spoke, asking “Hello? Are you still there?” but Jaskier didn’t answer. He could still hear Yennefer and Geralt fighting in the background, but it was more like white noise now. 

He stumbled back into the kitchen,almost in a trance, and the two looked up when he entered. “Are you alright?” Geralt asked, sounding strangely worried. The game was forgotten, like Yennefer and Geralt already forgave each other. 

Jaskier could barely get the words out of his mouth. He swallowed thickly, and tried to speak. His mouth felt like sandpaper. “My dad, he-” he choked, tearing spilling out of his eyes, and instantly Yennefer was by his side, Geralt not far behind, holding him close. “He died yesterday. Heart attack. I have the fortune. The family fortune. Fuck.” 

He cried harder, not able to speak another word, and Geralt wrapped him in his arms, holding Jaskier against his chest. Yennefer petted his hair as Jaskier cried harder. 

He hated his dad. His dad never accepted him for who he was, never approved of his lifestyle. But he had still been there, taught Jaskier how to ride a bike, showed him how to make the most delicious pancakes, still sent money to make sure his son was happy. His dad loved him, of this Jaskier was certain, and he knew that with a few more years, they could have grown close again, built up their relationship. Jaskier had grown up with his dad, loved and hated him simultaneously, and the pain of losing his only parent nearly killed him inside, where his shattered heart used to be. He fought with his dad, and his last words to him had been harsh admissions of hate. Fuck, he regretted it. 

He sobbed into Geralt’s shoulder, not even caring this was the closest he had ever gotten to the man, and most likely the closest he’ll ever be. 

* * *

After going to the funeral, Jaskier felt like he was moving through the world as a zombie. The family business and fortune was his own to do with as he pleased. He had a choice to make; did he choose Uncle Darrell, or Uncle Chase to take over for him. He knew he didn’t want the company. It was the last thing he ever wanted from his life. He thought he would have more time to figure it out before it was given to him. 

He met up with both of them one day; Jaskier could see the greed in their eyes, could see how much they lusted for the money, and Jaskier burned with rage. He hated his father, but he hated his uncles more. They came to an agreement; Jaskier would keep the family fortune, and the two brothers could fight over the company, come to a different agreement between them. 

He left the building, knowing with a sick sort of pride he had just torn the family apart. 

Yennefer and Geralt were walking on eggshells around him. Yennefer barely even insulted him anymore, and Geralt always responded with actual words, which Jaskier thought was nice, but he wanted his old friends back. The ones that weren’t afraid to call him an idiot to his face. 

He was half asleep in Geralt’s bed, waiting to sink into slumber, when Yennefer and Geralt kissed softly, doing homework and Jaskier had to look away. They still fought, still yelled, but it was now comfortable between them, and Jaskier felt useless in front of them. The sadness inside of him grew larger and larger, and Jaskier wondered if it would be rude to walk out so he didn’t have to see them be in love without him.

He still loved them both; didn’t think he could stop, didn’t think he ever would. 

They were walking one day, six months after Jaskiers dad died, nine months after Yennefer and Geralt started dating. The two were holding hands, their grip tight on the other. Jaskier wanted to cry, but didn’t think he could. He had already done enough. They were in love with each other; his father was dead; he didn't want to cry for one more second. 

“Do you guys want to go to a music concert this weekend?” Jaskier asked. He had got the tickets with the fortune he inherited. He was a millionaire now. That was such a weird thought. 

Yennefer and Geralt looked at each other, then nodded slowly, reluctantly. Jaskier sighed; he knew they both despised his music tastes, knew that if his father hadn’t died, they would say no and insult him. He missed it when they would. 

“I’m okay guys. You don’t have to come. I’ll ask someone else,” he said, and Yennefer and Geralt smiled at him, happy they didn’t have to go. They would probably spend the evening together, while Jaskier went alone because he didn’t have anyone else to ask. He hesitantly smiled back, and hoped that things would go back to normal. 

* * *

Jaskier had fallen in love with Geralt at first because he was hot. The man looked like a fucking super model, you couldn't blame him. 

That was his reason at the time. All he saw in that arena was some large man body check someone into the boards harshly, and Jaskier had never wanted to be a hockey player more in that moment, just so he could get hip checked by that man. He would welcome it, and would welcome the bruises the next day. 

But Geralt had many other qualities Jaskier loved. He was smart, loyal, and brave. His sense of humour was dry, but Jaskier loved him more for it. He was gentle with small children, and even though he always said he hated Jaskier, Jaskier knew Geralt loved him. He could see it whenever Geralt would move his body so Jaskier was protected when they moved through the city and people would call after him, could see it when Geralt remembered his favourite colour, yellow, and would bring him small trinkets of that colour. 

It was so easy to fall in love with Geralt. Jaskier didn’t understand why so many people were scared of him. All he could see was a big, misunderstood softie. 

(Geralt hated when Jaskier called him that. It just made Jaskier want to call him it more.) 

Falling in love with Yennefer was a bit different. It had happened slowly over the years, starting with Yennefer's beautiful eyes above him as she pushed him into the mud, and ending with Yennefer hugging him so tightly he couldn’t breath after they graduated high school, and she was finally free. 

Yennefer had a lot of bad qualities, Jaskier knew this, but instead of hating them, they just made Jaskier love her even more. 

Yennefer was selfish, wanted the entire world at her feet, bowing to her whims, and Jaskier wished he was one of the things Yennefer so desperately coveted. Knew that if Yennefer truly wanted him, she would already have him with her. 

Yennefer was angry, and Jaskier wanted her fists bloody with his own blood, and wanted her attention and power directed at him, even if it was bad. He loved her all the more for her darkness and anger she wanted to hide from the world. 

Yennefer was bitter, spiteful, and petty, and by gods, if Jaskier didn’t get a kick out of watching her ruin the lives of those who had scorned her. He had been one of them before, though it was more innocent fun rather than legitimate anger. 

The point was, Jaskier loved her. Loved them both. Loved them with every inch of his soul. 

He would never be enough for them. He loved softly, kindly, even when he was with someone he didn’t know, and sought to please everyone he was with. He wanted a small cottage filled with flowers and the scent of baking bread, he wanted strawberry cream and a garden by the coast. He wanted to wake up in a soft bed surrounded with blankets to a cup of sweet tea and pancakes. 

Yennefer and Geralt wanted roughness, darkness, and pain. They wanted the bustle of the city, the smell of smoke, and police sirens. They wanted to come home so tired they didn’t even have time to love each other. They wanted more and more, they were so demanding. They were perfect for each other. 

They wanted different things in love, but Jaskier would give up all his dreams just to be with them, and would give his life up so they could be happy together. He would gladly take the pain, the smoke, the bright lights, and skyscrapers so he wouldn’t lose them again. 

He would give up every inch of what made him  _ Jaskier  _ if it meant they would love him back. 

* * *

Good things don’t last. That was a lesson Jaskier was learning quite harshly. He really fucking hated adulthood. Adulthood was bullshit, he wanted to be five years old again. He wanted to not have any worries besides what was for dinner that night. 

He was going home after a live gig. He was tired, sore, and had no reason to be singing for money anymore. He was a millionaire now, but he needed to be away from Yennefer, who was asking him what outfit Geralt would like the best. He would like all of them, Jaskier said; Yennefer looked good in everything she wore. 

He walked into their house, the walls covered in paint streaks and portraits, and walked slowly up the wire staircase, his guitar case hitting the bottom. He felt so run down and heavy, and he wondered if he should start going to therapy. That might help him sort out his feelings anyway. 

Yennefer was sitting on his bed, looking at something in her lap. That was a normal occurrence between them; they often snuck into each other's room to hang out. He had done the same to Yennefer once or twice as well. 

“I thought you would have left for Geralt’s by now,” he joked, keeping the bitterness out of his voice. When she didn’t respond, he turned around, setting his case on the floor. “What are you looking at anyway? It must be pretty-” 

He stopped suddenly, and if he still had a heart inside of him, he knew it would have skipped a beat. He knew that notebook. It was the one he had used to write the songs he would never sing in public ever, the one he used to write his heartbreak songs. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking into Yennefer's eyes, which were filled with shock, anger, and sadness, seemingly glowing with it. It was a lame thing to say, but it was all he could. What else could he say to her? 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, standing up. It was approaching nighttime, and the sun was setting, filling the rooms with shadows. Yennefer's face was covered, and she looked like the boogeyman from Jaskiers nightmares. 

She knew then. Jaskier wanted to run, but his feet were rooted to the ground, and he knew that if he did, Yennefer would catch him. 

“You were dating Geralt, I didn’t want to mess that up for you,” he said, backing up slowly, away from her. Jaskier wanted to leave, get far away from this place, because that was his secret notebook, the one he thought no one would ever see, the one place he had that wasn’t ruined by Yennefer and Geralt’s stupid fucking relationship. He thought that it was his secret, but now that was gone. 

“But you’ve been in love with me for a lot longer, haven’t you?” she said, stepping closer. Her voice trembled like she was restraining herself from something, and Jaskier wanted to get onto his knees and beg for her forgiveness. He had messed everything up; he shouldn’t have fallen in love in the first place, not with someone who would never love him back. 

“You would never love me back,” Jaskier said, hands brushing the wire staircase. “You never would have.” 

“You don’t know that!” Yennefer screamed, patience snapping, and Jaskier flinched back. She looked guilty for a second, before sighing, looking like the fight left her body but Jaskier knew better. Yennefer was always good at repressing things, almost as good as Geralt. “You don’t know that.” 

“Are you kidding me? You never gave me any indication you wanted me back, I did everything short of throwing myself at you naked,” Jaskier snapped. He remembered his promise to himself; if they ever played with his feelings, he would leave them, leave far away. He was a millionaire; he could go wherever he wanted, even to the places untouched by man. 

“You talk every second of every day, and you couldn’t have been bothered to admit this,” Yennefer yelled, then took a deep breath. She stormed up to Jaskier, and Jaskier closed his eyes, but she moved past him instead, going downstairs. Her footsteps echoed through the house, and the stars groaned under her weight. 

“Where are you going?” Jaskier yelled down at her, shocked she was leaving. 

“I can’t be around you right now,” she said, sounding so pissed, and Jaskiers worst fears were confirmed. “I need to think for a minute, hang on.” She looked up at him, glaring. “Don’t go anywhere,” she commanded, and Jaskier shivered slightly at her tone. 

Of course he wasn’t going to listen. 

She got on her boots, her heavy combat ones like she was going to war, then left the house, slamming the door shut. Jaskier let out a shaky breath. The notebook was still on his bed, and he approached it with growing anger. 

His notebook was the cause of her anger, the cause of Yennefer finding out his deepest secret. He glared down at it, then tore out the first page, and ripped it up. It gave him a brief moment of satisfaction, like he was tearing up his stupid, unrequited feelings. 

He did it again, and again, and again, until he was standing among the ruins of his notebook, the thing he had worked so hard on since he left high school. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, then started moving around, packing up a bag. 

If Yennefer knew about his feelings, then there was no use staying. Obviously she hated him now, hated that he had any sort of feelings for her, and he wasn’t going to stay around to hear those thoughts. He couldn’t bear it, knew his non-existent heart couldn’t either. His clothes were thrown into a bag, and he started planning on where to go. Tears blurred his eyes, but he didn't wipe them away, and they didn't fall. He didn’t think they could anyway. 

* * *

He was almost packed up when headlights shone in the driveway, illuminating the night. He would recognise them anywhere; Roach. 

He swore under his breath, and started packing faster. He was ready to go, and he zipped up the bag, then ran downstairs, skipping every second step on his way down, desperate to leave. He could hear Geralt’s heavy boots walking up the driveway, then the door was almost knocked off its hinges. Geralt was standing in the doorway, and he looked pissed. 

“What the fuck Jaskier?” Geralt snarled, and Jaskier felt a flash of fear as Geralt glared at him, anger burning in his eyes, and Jaskier felt a flash of shame when he realised it just made him love Geralt more. “You couldn’t let me have one thing, couldn’t you?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaskier said back, feeling his world crumble, as every belief of his was tested. Maybe Geralt didn’t care about him as much as Jaskier assumed. Geralt grabbed him by his shirt, then shoved him against the wall, Jaskier’s legs dangling down limply. Jaskier felt the air go out of his lungs, and if it wasn’t such a serious moment, he would have loved being in that position. 

“You said you were in love with Yennefer,” Geralt yelled, his face right next to Jaskiers. His golden eyes were filled with rage and hurt, and Jaskier wanted to cry. “You couldn’t just let me be happy for once? You just had to ruin everything, didn’t you?” 

Jaskier didn’t know how to say that it was an accident, that he never meant for them to find out about his love. He never wanted to ruin things for them, and he could feel everything start to fall apart in his grasp. He gasped for breath, feeling like he was drowning. 

“You prick, I said don’t hurt him,” Yennefer yelled from the door, and she stormed in. She pushed Geralt away from him, and Geralt stumbled back. Jaskier fell in the ground, and he scrambled back up, grabbing his bag. Yennefer was screaming at Geralt, and Geralt was yelling back, and Jaskier didn’t know how it had all gone to shit so fast. 

“You said it wouldn’t change anything between us,” Geralt said angrily, and Jaskier watched as Yennefer glared up at him. 

“Yeah, I said that, but I didn’t mean for you to hurt him,” she screamed back, and Jaskier wanted to run away far away from the house. 

“He obviously doesn’t mean it,” Geralt yelled back, his fists clenched. “He just wants to ruin things between us. He can have everything he wants, and he just has to choose you, doesn’t he?” 

Yennefer stopped, and her eyes filled with silent rage. The room seemed to darken, and Jaskier gulped. Geralt didn’t seem scared, and Jaskier wondered how he could still look her in the eyes without crying. 

She was about to speak when Jaskier coughed slightly, getting their attention. He nearly cried with both of their attention on him. “I never wanted you to know,” he said, looking Geralt dead in the eyes, feeling his bravery waver. “And it was never just her I had to keep it from.” 

Something in his soul burned as he admitted those words, and he wished he could go back in time and burn that fucking notebook, the cause of their pain and sorrow. He would have been fine, he would have gone to Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding in the winter, and he would have made a speech, and Yennefer would have worn black, and Jaskier would cry from both happiness and sadness. He had it all planned out, every second, from the moment they adopted a little girl, to their deathbed. But nothing was going the way he wanted it to, and his world was collapsing around him. 

“What?” Geralt said, looking so confused before it clicked in his head. “You mean you weren’t joking?” Jaskier remembered all those times Geralt thought he was joking when he flirted with Geralt, and nodded slowly. Geralt moved forward, as if to punch Jaskier, but Yennefer stopped him. Her hand wrapped around Geralt’s wrist and she spun him around, not letting him take a second step. 

“Don’t go near him, this is why I never wanted him to talk to you,” she growled, and Geralt’s eyes widened. “He never should have met you.” 

And damn, if that didn’t make Geralt angrier. 

Jaskier watched them argue, over him no less, their voices steadily getting louder and louder. He wondered how things could end up so messed up, like two trains heading directly towards each other, with no way to stop it. His hands trembled, and the bag in his hands seemed to be weighing him down. All he wanted was to collapse to the floor, but he needed to get out of the house, away from the two people he had unwillingly betrayed. 

He slowly inched towards the door, knowing that everything was his fault. He should have never fallen in love; his father had always warned him against it, told him he should never give his heart away. He wished his father was here still, because even if his father didn’t believe he was bisexual, he would have welcomed Jaskier home with open arms. He would have hugged Jaskier hard, and then made him hot chocolate and pancakes, and he would have listened when Jaskier told him about his loves, because his father loved him. 

“Where are you going?” Yennefer asked, and with a start, Jaskier realised that they were both staring at him. He hadn’t even noticed they had stopped fighting. 

“Anywhere but here,” he replied, trying to remain strong, at least until he got outside. Geralt shoved past Yennefer to get to him, but Jaskier stepped back, and Geralt stopped. His eyes filled with hurt, but he didn’t move a single step forward. The anger had gone from his eyes, replaced with something akin to guilt, but Jaskier didn't want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear his pitying words of “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.” 

“We have to talk about this,” Yennefer said, and Jaskier scoffed. His fingers tightened around his bag, and his legs tensed, ready to flee. 

“Talk about what? I’m sorry I fell in love with you, with both of you. I shouldn't have, but it’s too late now. So I’ll leave, and you can be together and be happy, okay?”

“Jaskier, don’t be an idiot, where will you go?” Yennefer asked, and Jaskier was happy that she had gone back to insulting him, like she did before his father died and Yennefer turned kind. 

He thought about it; somehow Yennefer had always known where he was, had been able to find him in the city no matter what. It used to make him feel safe. Now it only made him feel watched. He wanted to be alone, away from the both of them, somewhere he couldn’t see their love for each other. 

“I’ll find somewhere on the globe, and I’ll make my home there. I’ll call and book a flight on my way to the airport.” 

“I’ll come find you,” Yennefer promised, and her eyes burned. “And when I do, you’ll be sorry that you ran.” 

Jaskier laughed at her empty threat. He looked at Geralt, then to Yennefer. “You want to find me, you want me to talk about this? Let's make it a challenge. Come and find me, lovers, and then we’ll talk.” 

He left the house, half expecting to hear footsteps come after him, but instead they began to yell again, and Jaskier walked away. 

The airport was twenty minutes away. He turned on his phone and called them, knowing that when you’re a millionaire, you could do anything. 

* * *

“You’re an idiot,” Sam said, trying to be blunt, and Jaskier laughed. Annie swatted Sam's arm gently, and Sam rubbed the spot she hit, glaring at Annie. 

“You’re right, I am. I’m an idiot. But when you’re older, you’ll see. You do stupid things for love, even create an entire new identity, and run around the globe from your problems.” 

Sam didn’t think she would ever be able to do that. It seemed like too much work. 

Jaskier got up, his bones creaking, and went to his shelf. He picked up a few items and showed the kids. “This is from Spain,” he said, showing a hand knitted doll. “And this is from Russia,” showing a clay pot. “And I have many more little trinkets like these. I went to lots of countries before I settled down here, running from them.” 

“At least you got your dream, right?” Gabe said, and Sam turned to look at him. He was right. Jaskier did make it to the coast, even if it was without his two loves. 

“You’re right, at least I got my dream of living in a tiny cottage by the coast. Things have a funny way of working out.” 

“I don’t think it was very fair of them to be mad at you for falling in love,” Sam said. Annie and Gabe nodded their agreement. Ethan just looked confused, but then again, he was four years old. 

“The funny thing is,” Jaskier looked sadly down at them, looking so old as he spoke, “I don’t think they were mad at me for that reason.” 

Sam was just about to ask what he meant before Gabe spoke up. “Did you ever contact them again?” 

“Actually yes,” Jaskier said, coming back over to them, and sitting down with a groan. “I sent them a letter, not marked obviously. I hope they got it, but I have no way of knowing.” 

Sam was still confused. None of her questions had been answered, but before she could ask them, she noticed how late it had gotten. “I have to go,” she said, knowing that Grandmother would be waiting for her. Mother and Tammy would be getting home soon, and Sam had to be there to greet them. She didn’t even realise how late it had gotten, so wrapped up in Jaskiers story. 

“You can come back tomorrow,” Jaskier said. “Not for a story, but maybe you could help me around the garden, or something. Maybe I can play some of my songs. I get quite lonely up here, so you children really brightened my day.” 

Sam smiled, happy she was able to make Jaskier’s day better. The children waved goodbye to Jaskier, yelling out at him. Jaskier waved goodbye until he couldn’t see them anymore. The sun was setting over the cliffs, and the sky was a bright pink with streaks of purple. Gabe and Ethan ran off themselves, back to their home, leaving Sam and Annie alone. 

“That was amazing,” Annie said, dancing around, her bare feet in the grass. Sam remembered how their shoes got muddy yesterday, and thought that maybe her shoes were being cleaned. “It’s sad I wasn’t there for the first part though.” 

“I’m glad you weren’t,” Sam said without thinking, and her heart clenched when Annie's face fell. Annie whirled around and stopped, glaring at Sam, looking very terrifying for a seven year old girl. 

“You know, I’ll never know why you hate me so much! What did I ever do to you?” she said, sounding mad, but also slightly sad, as if she really didn’t know. It was a question Sam wasn’t able to answer fully, so she just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“You stole Bryan from me,” Sam replied, getting ready to fist fight, then remembered Annie probably had never fought a day in her life, and Sam wasn’t going to fight someone who had no experience. She was quite fair like that, if she did say so herself. 

“I don’t want Bryan,” Annie said, and she pretended to gag, as if she were disgusted by the mere idea. “He’s gross. Girls are better.” 

Sam looked at her in shock, feeling the fight bleed out of her. “I can marry a girl?” She never considered that before, but now that Annie mentioned it, it made sense. If Jaskier could fall in love with a man, she could fall in love with a woman. 

“Sure you can,” Annie said, and smiled shyly. Sam blushed when she did, thinking that Annie looked like a princess when she did, and Sam wanted to be her knight, like in the fairy tales. Suddenly Merida wasn’t that appealing anymore. Maybe Prince Charming really was better, even though he was an idiot. 

“Do you think we could get married later?” Sam asked, the same way Bryan had, and Annie laughed. 

“Okay,” she said, “just as long as you wear the suit, because my mom said that I had to wear her old wedding dress, as a family tradition or something. Plus, I don’t want to wear a suit, so you’ll have to.” 

Sam felt light, as if she had found the person she was waiting for. She was even willing to let Sam wear the suit. Bryan wasn’t, and Sam wondered why she even considered being with him. 

Sam had been seven years old when a boy first broke her heart. Sam was beginning to think she didn’t love boys anyway. 

Annie smiled at her, and went to brush her hair from her eyes, then stopped. She grasped her hair tightly in worry, her gorgeous brown hair clenched in her fist. “Sam! My ribbons are gone. My mom is going to kill me.” 

She looked so worried, and Sam wanted to fix it for her, fix everything that was wrong in Annie’s life. “You probably dropped them at Jaskiers,” she said. “I’ll go get them back for you, don’t worry.” 

Annie nodded, and Sam turned around and ran back as fast as her legs could carry her. If she got the ribbons for Annie, maybe Annie would fall in love with her. She was about to enter Jaskiers garden when something made her stop in her tracks, almost making her trip. She waited around for a few seconds, then decided she could give Annie one of her red ribbons from her house before Annie went home. 

She ran back down where Annie was waiting for her. “Do you have them?” Annie asked, and she looked so excited Sam almost felt bad for not completing her mission. 

“We can come back tomorrow. For now, you can borrow one of mine for now.” 

“Why?” 

Sam smiled, and the sun finished it’s descent into the ocean, setting twilight aflame. “I think we should leave him alone.” 

She held her hand out for Annie to take, because it was dangerous on the road at night, and Annie laughed, then took it. Her hand was warm in Sam’s own, and Sam was happy. 

She gave the ribbon to Annie, and Annie promised to keep forever, almost like a wedding ring. 

* * *

Jaskier sighed, feeling tired, and older than he thought he should be. While it had been nice to have some company, it was hard reliving his heartbreak. They were kids; they deserved to know, but it still hurt him inside, in the place where his heart should be. 

He was healing, but he still felt empty inside. He heard their rumours, how he held himself like a ghost, a shell of his former self, and they were right. Sometimes it made him sad to remember who he used to be before his heartbreak, but he could barely remember it anymore. This was him now; the kindhearted old man who lived in the tiny Irish village, who told stories to children for payments of rocks, vegetables, and flowers. 

He was picking up the blankets and pillows, when a bright red ribbon caught his eyes. He remembered them inside of Annie's hair, how pretty they had looked. He picked it up, and it was so small and smooth in his hand. It almost looked like blood, curled in his palm. 

“She must have left this behind,” he muttered, and then there was a sharp knock on the door, echoing through the house. “That must be her coming back for them,” he said, then walked over to the door. 

“Coming back for these?” he said teasingly, opening the door and holding up the ribbons, and then he stopped. 

The wind blew through, sharp and cold, and Jaskier could feel the pieces of his broken heart swirl within his rib cage, and settle down inside of him once more. The hurt was fresh and raw, and he nearly doubled over with it, but he stayed strong. 

They were just as beautiful as he remembered; Yennefer with her piercing lilac eyes, and Geralt standing tall and imposing. He could feel his love for them return full force, and he hated himself for it, wishing it could just leave him alone for once. 

He wanted to yell, to scream out, because how dare they invade the only place he ever had not filled with memories of either of them. But he was long past such a childish reaction, so instead he smiled sadly and said, “Hello. I haven’t seen you two in forever.” 

He was well aware he was older now, and his voice wasn’t as sweet as it was when he was young, but they both smiled, as if they had been waiting to hear him speak for so long. Yennefer held up his letter, the one he sent them, and Jaskier could feel the tears well up in his eyes. 

“Hello Jaskier.” 


	2. geralt fucks up, then fixes it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt messes up and has to apologise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like, two people asked for this sequel, and that was good enough for me
> 
> geralt was a little bitch in this, we don't give him rights, sorry

Geralt had met Jaskier walking out of the hockey arena one night. He was tired, pissed, and ready to go home and sleep, when a man walked up to him, sprouting some bullshit about some songs. The man was an annoying twenty-two year old college student who followed Geralt around until Geralt finally accepted that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Weirdly, Jaskier wasn’t that bad when you got to know him. He was loud, idiotic, sang way too much about love and heartbreak, but he was funny, caring, and creative. Geralt would rather die than admit those things to him, but they were the truth. Jaskier had grown on him, and Geralt hadn’t had someone care about him the way Jaskier did for such a long time. It was almost a foreign concept to him, the idea of love. 

He had known Jaskier for only a few days when Jaskier first mentioned Yennefer Vengerberg. 

“You tell that to my roommate Yennefer, and she’ll tear your eyes out,” he laughed after Geralt had made a scathing comment about the colour purple, and Geralt had looked at him. 

“Yennefer?” 

“Yeah, she’s my friend, but I also think she hates me. Hey, maybe you should meet her sometime!” 

Geralt had declined. Back then, he didn’t want to get anymore involved with Jaskier than he already was, and wanted Jaskier to go far away from him. Meeting his friends would be a horrible idea, would mean that there was no chance he could back out of their shaky friendship. Back then, he thought there was a chance Jaskier would get bored of him eventually, and go harass some other hockey player instead. Nobody had stayed with Geralt for long. 

But he didn’t. And a few months later, Geralt found himself holding hands with Jaskier as they crossed the highway. Jaskier had said it was about safety, but his hand felt so warm in Geralts, and Jaskier didn’t let go when they got to the sidewalk on the other side, so neither did Geralt. 

They made it over to Jaskiers house, and Jaskier laughed, finally letting go. “This is going to be amazing,” he said, then opened the door, a bright purple that clashed with other houses in the area. Geralt fucking hated the colour purple. 

Jaskiers house didn’t look anything like how he had imagined it. Jaskier was rich; Geralt knew that, knew it from just reading the tabloids from years ago. He knew who Jaskiers father was, knew that he didn’t accept Jaskier for being who he was, knew that Jaskier had rejected that life a long time ago. But for some reason, he assumed that Jaskier would want to continue to live in luxury, with expensive items and trinkets scattered around his house. He should have known that wouldn’t be correct. Jaskier was an enigma, and Geralt had given up trying to understand him. 

Jaskiers house was messy, looked like someone had gone through with a third grade paintbrush, and painted lines all around. Flowers and words were crossed out, like someone had waged war against them, and the house was their battlefield. Old items were hung up around, and an iron staircase led upstairs, to what Geralt knew was Jaskiers room. It was almost incredible, how Jaskier had managed to make his mark all around on the wall, while simultaneously letting someone else exist. 

Jaskier sometimes seemed too big for the world, and seemed like he needed everyone's eyes on him as he told his stories. Geralt couldn’t imagine him sharing the centre stage with anyone. 

“Yen darling,” Jaskier called, and his voice echoed through the house. “I have someone for you to meet.” 

“What do you want, idiot,” a voice called back. Geralt stifled a laugh. Of course Jaskier would befriend those who constantly kept him in check, who constantly insulted him. It was almost masochistic in a way. 

Jaskier looked at him in mock disbelief, like he knew he would be insulted, but was still shocked by it. “She’s always like this,” he sighed, shaking his head. 

“She’s not wrong.” 

“What’s this? Someone agreeing with me?” A woman appeared in the entryway, looking like a fucking supermodel, and Geralt couldn’t help it; he stared. How did Jaskier manage to befriend her? She looked like she would bite the head off of any man who even came near her. “I like him already.” 

She wore ripped jeans and a denim jacket that was too big on her. Her hair was dark black, and her eyes were lilac and purple, and somehow, Geralt knew they were natural, like his own golden eyes were too. 

“Did he also follow you around until you agreed to become friends with him too?” That was the only way he could see Jaskier becoming friends with someone. He acted like a nuisance, but he created a hole inside of your heart, until he hated him, but you also loved him. It was a strange contradiction, but it was Jaskier. 

Yennefer laughed, sharp and bitter, but it seemed like Geralt was the only one to see her anger in her voice, though it wasn’t directed at Jaskier, but the world at whole. “That is exactly what happened, how did you know?” 

Geralt was about to speak again, when Jaskier cut in, pouting. “You guys are being very mean to me right now. Come on, you know you appreciate me, admit it.” He crossed his arms childishly, and Geralt resisted the urge to laugh at him, knowing it would probably just make things worse. 

“Of course I love you,” Yennefer leaned over, pinching Jaskiers cheek. Her fingers left bright red marks on his skin when she pulled away, and Geralt couldn’t stop staring at the difference, the bright redness of his skin compared to the other side. Yennefer sent a discreet wink Geralt's way, and Geralt was already halfway enamoured with her. 

Yennefer let go of Jaskier and walked over to Geralt, leaving Jaskier behind. Now that she was just looking at Geralt, Geralt could see the fire in her eyes, the anger that burned behind them. She looked like she could shake the world with just her scream, like she was someone to be afraid of.

She held out a hand to Geralt, and to him it looked like a challenge. Her nails were long and sharp, and when he clasped her hand in his, they dug into his skin, biting. She squeezed tight, hoping to intimidate him, and Geralt took the bait. He squeezed her hand back, and she looked surprised, like no man had challenged her back before. 

He let go, and dropped his hand. “Well,” Jaskier said, not noticing the tension in the room. “What’s for supper? I’m thinking pizza.” 

Yennefer turned away from him, and laughed, calling dibs on pepperoni, and the moment was gone. 

After when Geralt got home, back to his tiny fucking dorm he shared with two douche bags, he stared at his hand, considering. 

* * *

Geralt hated Jaskier’s father. 

It was a story Jaskier had told him right away with a casualness that betrayed the serious subject. 

“My father hates me because I’m bisexual,” Jaskier had waved off, like it was such a small thing, like it didn’t even matter. “But he sends me money, almost like a homophobia tax, so it’s all good.” 

Geralt tried to imagine that, hating someone for who they loved. It was such foreign concept to him, he didn’t know how it could be possible. A punishment for love? That was bullshit. His own parents had abandoned him when he was young, but he figured that was less of who Geralt was, and more because they were drunk assholes who never gave a shit about anyone but themselves. Vesemir, the man who saved him, was fine with whoever Geralt brought home, and Geralt was happy to have someone actually accept him in that way. 

Jaskier was so desensitised to it, the hatred, and Geralt wanted to kill everyone of those motherfuckers who had made him so used to the discrimination he faced daily. 

* * *

Yennefer, he was finding, was a fucking possessive asshole over the things she deemed hers. Geralt didn’t think it was right to be possessive over a human being. Jaskier was a thing, wasn’t property to be fought over. But Yennefer was also challenging him, and Geralt wanted to prove himself to her. Jaskier would understand, it wasn’t like it was hurting him to be fought over the way they were, not as a prize, but as a declaration of war. 

Besides, Yennefer's choice of clothing for him was so hideous, Geralt didn’t even know where to begin with it. Jaskier may have worn some of the ugliest shit Geralt had ever seen in his life, but he had standards, however little. Yennefer didn’t. 

They pulled Jaskier both ways, right and left, and Geralt burned whenever Yennefer took Jaskier away from him, like she owned him. It was almost hypocritical when Geralt took him away from her. 

(“You’re being a fucking bitch,” a voice inside of Geralts head whispered, but Geralt stamped it down.) 

That led them to the restaurant; Yennefer began showing Jaskier different items on the menu, and obviously Geralt couldn’t be outdone. Besides, she clearly had shit taste, both in clothes and food. 

“Guys what the fuck?” Jaskier exclaimed, when he had finally had enough, and Geralt withdrew, wondering what he had done wrong. 

“What?” Yennefer asked, looking just as confused as Geralt. 

“I really thought that you guys would like each other!” Jaskier said, sounding upset, and Geralt wondered what had given him that idea. They were both too similar, in all the wrong ways to ever like each other. “But you’re acting like children.” 

Okay, so it must be really bad when Jaskier was the one saying that. Jaskier was one of the most immature people Geralt had ever met in his life. 

“Sorry,” he said, at the same time as Yennefer, and Jaskier huffed, looking disappointed in both of them. 

“At least try to get along, okay?” He stood up, and Yennefer watched him carefully as he moved. “I need to go to the bathroom. Try not to kill each while I’m gone.” Jaskier walked away, and the second he was out of earshot, Geralt felt a hand on his shoulder, pressing tightly. Yennefer turned him towards her with barely any strength, and Geralt marveled at her. 

“Listen here and listen good,” she snarled, nails digging into his skin. Geralt was ashamed to admit it, but he felt a stab of fear fill him. He hadn't been scared of anything for a long time. “Jaskier has told me all about you, and I don’t trust you, not even a little bit. I swear to every god in existence, if you hurt him, I will kill you.” 

Geralt searched her face for a few seconds, before it hit him. “You’re in love with him,” he realised, and Yennefer stared at him in shock. It wasn’t the answer she had expected, and Geralt was glad he was able to shock her. She let go of his shoulder, and leaned back. 

“Yeah, I am,” she admitted. She was still angry, but now it appeared to be more at herself than Geralt. “And he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t love me back.” She turned to me, trying to look angry, but it came off as more scared than anything, almost like she was ashamed of her feelings. “If you tell him, I’ll rip your cock off and feed it to the dumpster dogs, got it?” 

Geralt nodded slowly, and Yennefer retreated. Geralt could feel something inside of him screaming, inching to fight, but he didn’t know why. There were no battlegrounds there, just an empty restaurant Jaskier dragged them to. 

Jaskier came back soon, and looked at them suspiciously, as if he couldn’t believe they hadn't ripped each other's heads off yet. They ordered their meal, and ate in silence. The food was pretty good, and Geralt could see how Jaskier liked it so much, but he was too busy thinking about what Yennefer had told him. 

Eventually Jaskier went to go pay, and Geralt turned to Yennefer. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to know how someone could be in love with Jaskier. For some reason he couldn’t see it; not because Jaskier was unlovable, but because he seemed like the world's narrator, the storyteller of everyone in their little circle, and no one loves the writer, except apparently a woman who had fire in her lungs, and a grudge against the entire world. 

“Can I have your number?” he asked, and Yennefer laughed at him. 

“Hell no. What do you even want it for anyway?” 

“I have some questions for you. I also want to know more about Jaskier.” He figured mentioning Jaskier would get her to comply. It seemed like the man was her weakness. 

Yennefer regarded him for a few seconds, before reaching into her purse to pull out her phone. Geralt took it gratefully, and started putting his number in. Yennefer took his, typing out her number, her long nails clacking against the screen. 

Of course that was the moment Jaskier decided to come back from paying. He looked at their phones in opposite hands, and he smiled wide, looking excited. 

“I knew you guys just needed a chance to get to know each other!” Jaskier exclaimed, and Geralt grunted. Whatever Jaskier thought was happening between them was wrong, but he knew he couldn’t convince the man otherwise. 

Jaskier waved goodbye to him as he walked home with Yennefer, and Geralt went back to his dorm alone. His roommates were gone, and he sighed with relief. He hated them both with a passion. He looked at his phone, at the number Yennefer had given him, and tried to think about what to say. He finally decided on a simple question, one he had been wondering ever since he first heard of her love. 

_Why don’t you fight for him, if you're just selfish enough to want it?_

She texted back a few minutes later, and Geralt looked at it faster than he wished he would. He had questions, questions about her and Jaskier, and he wanted to know the answers. She was the only person capable of giving them to him. 

_shut the fuck up_

He sighed. This would be harder than he thought. 

* * *

Geralt was sitting on the bed, texting Yennefer. Somehow they had gotten on the topic of orgies, which Geralt didn’t really know why they needed to be discussing these things. But Yennefer was talking, and he needed her to open up to him. He was willing to play along, if only to get some answers from her. Was manipulative? Yes. Did Geralt ever consider himself a good person? Fuck no. And he was willing to bet Yennefer would understand. 

She sent an attachment a few minutes later. It was a picture of Jaskier, reaching up on the shelves, grabbing a box of something Geralt couldn’t see. His shirt was riding up, and Geralt could see his hips and his smooth, pale skin. 

_he’s a fucking idiot_

Yennefer texted that right after, and Geralt laughed. He was beginning to understand that when she said idiot, she meant something else. Something loving. Geralt didn’t know what yet, but he wanted to find out. Yennefer had a love language that was different from Jaskiers, and Geralt didn’t know how she could ever love him. 

He didn’t want her to, and he didn’t know why. 

* * *

Geralt slammed someone into the boards with a strength he knew would leave bruises later. He almost felt bad, but then he had the puck, and was flying towards the net. There was suspense and anticipation in his lungs, and he was reminded why he loved the game so much, skating over the ice. The goalie moved, trying to figure out which way he would be shooting. He deked the players out, moving left, then right, and fired a slap shot. The puck went flying into the net. The goalie had fallen to his knees trying to stop it, and was shaking his head, disappointed in him. 

The buzzer sounded, and the crowd cheered. Geralt could see in the stands as Jaskier leapt up to his feet, cheering loudly. Yennefer was beside him, eyes firmly on her phone. Geralt watched her for a second, before he was attacked by his teammates and she disappeared from view. 

* * *

A few weeks later Jaskier invited him out to dinner with Yennefer. He extended the invitation over text, and Geralt didn’t even have to think about his answer. He wanted to see Yennefer again, he wanted to know more about her. They had been texting nonstop over the last few weeks, but Geralt didn’t know the difference between what was the truth and what was a lie. Yennefer seemed like the type of person to lie about herself. 

Jaskier sent the address and Geralt walked over, waiting for them to show up. It was chilly, and he was cold, dressed in only a leather jacket, a white t-shirt, and jeans. He could see some people look at him suspiciously, like they were worried he was going to steal something, or that he wasn’t rich enough to be near the restaurant. He growled under his breath; damn Jaskier for always choosing the most expensive restaurants. 

After a few minutes of waiting he could see Yennefer and Jaskier approach. He was momentarily stunned by the beauty of them; Jaskier looked amazing, looking like some 1600’s pirate with his white blouse, and Yennefer looked like she had just killed a man minutes before walking over. Geralt didn’t expect that to be so hot. 

Jaskier saw him and waved wildly, running away from Yennefer to greet him. Yennefer glared at Geralt from behind Jaskier, and Geralt wondered why she didn't just confess. Jaskier would obviously go for her, he didn’t know who would ever turn down Yennefer Vengerberg. There must be a reason, and Geralt wanted to know why. 

He didn’t know why the woman fascinated him so much. 

Geralt watched as Yennefer led Jaskier into the restaurant, directing him slightly, taking him to a table. Geralt followed behind, feeling cut out from them both. They had known each other since they were children, and Geralt couldn’t help but feel like he was interrupting something whenever he went out with them, as if he wasn’t supposed to be with them. 

He sat right next to Yennefer, watching as Jaskier began to flip through the menu, looking for something good. He eventually settled on the pork, and Geralt decided to go with the steak. If Jaskier was paying for it, he would get something expensive. Jaskier was the rich one, not him. He was fucking broke. 

“So Geralt,” Jaskier asked, after the waiter took their order and walked away, “how was your game today?” 

Geralt thought about it. Jaskier hadn’t been able to attend because of homework, but he still inquired about every game he wasn’t able to make. He insisted on knowing every detail about what happens, in order to write his songs. “We won by four points,” he said, keeping it vague on purpose. He hated it when Jaskier sang about him. 

“That’s amazing,” Jaskier said, clapping his hands excitedly, not looking put off by the lack of details. He looked so proud of Geralt, and Geralt shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Just like I knew you would. Did you get any goals?” 

Geralt nodded his head, and Yennefer sighed. “Do you ever actually use your words?” she said, voice sharp. Geralt could feel himself grow angry at her callous tone. He wanted to fight back, but Jaskier interrupted him. 

“Guys stop, we’re here to eat, not to get into a fight. And I thought you guys were getting along, what the hell?” Jaskier asked, looking confused. Geralt felt kind of bad for him for his naivety. 

He sat back with a huff, not willing to make Jaskier any angrier. “Anyway, do you think you’ll get drafted soon?” Jaskier continued, trying to break apart the tension between them. 

“It’s not the entry draft yet Jaskier,” Geralt responded. “It will be soon though. Maybe then I will.” 

“Is that what you’re planning on doing after school? Hockey?” Yennefer asked, sounding bored. She looked at her nails, like Geralt wasn’t even worth her time, and Geralt wanted to be. He wondered how Jaskier had managed to capture her attention, what was so special about him. 

“Yeah it is. What are you doing?” 

She scoffed. “I’m going to be a doctor, not some stupid hockey player. Honestly, that’s the sport of toxic masculinity, you can’t tell me I’m wrong. You look like your tinder profile would be a picture of your truck.”

Fuck, she wasn’t wrong. 

“Okay, we’re talking about what we wanna do after college,” Jaskier said, a bit desperately, trying to break up the tension in the air. “I want to go to the coast, maybe live in a little cottage, bake some bread, y’know?” 

Geralt wanted to laugh; why would Yennefer ever want that? Jaskier was too soft for the both of them. Jaskier didn’t deserve Yennefer. 

“That sounds cool,” Yennefer said, finally tearing her eyes away from Geralt, and Geralt mourned the loss of her gaze. “It’s at least better than what he wants.” 

Geralt could feel himself get angrier, and began arguing back. He could see Jaskier looking between them, terrified, but he continued on, wanting to prove something to Yennefer. Yennefer was glaring, and it was a relief when the waiter finally brought their meals out. He began to eat silently, and Jaskier began to fill the silence again, like he always did when Geralt refused to speak. 

Everything was going fine until De Stael came inside. Geralt watched as Jaskier ducked his head, trying to avoid her attention, almost face planting into his meal. Yennefer’s anger was apparent as she practically spat out the name, and for a second, Geralt was impressed by how willing she was to defend her friend. Geralt could even feel himself grow angry, as Yennefer explained who she was and what she had done to Jaskier. Jaskier looked desperate to get away, and Geralt stood up, making sure to block the view. 

They were almost out when the woman's shrill voice filled the air, and Geralt cringed. It felt like nails on a chalkboard, and he wanted to punch her. Jaskier looked resigned, as if he was mentally preparing himself for the ordeal, and Geralt didn’t ever want to see him hurt. He tugged Jaskier out of the building, and Jaskier went easily.

“Are you going to tell me what happened back there?” Geralt asked. He wished he didn’t sound as angry as he felt, because Jaskier looked scared, though of who, Geralt didn’t know. A piercing scream cut through the air, and Jaskier stopped. They both looked around and noticed Yennefer wasn’t with them. 

Another screamed sounded through the air, and Geralt sighed. “I’ll get her. You go home Jaskier, don’t worry.” He gently shoved Jaskier forward, then turned back into the restaurant, getting ready to go inside. 

He could almost feel Jaskiers eyes on his back as he walked away, entering the restaurant again. The sounds of shattering glass, and chairs breaking filled the air as Geralt re entered the building. 

He could see Yennefer, being restrained by someone as she kicked and punched the air, trying to escape. De Stael was to the side, clutching a bloody nose, while her friends crowded around her, looking worried. 

“Fuck you,” Yennefer yelled, and tried to get out of the mans grasp. Geralt stalked towards them, and put his hand on the man's shoulder. 

“I got her,” he said, and Yennefer turned to him, glaring. The man looked at him, and seemed to evaluate him with his eyes. He nodded his head, and let go of Yennefer. De Stael looked horrified, but Yennefer didn’t try to attack her again, just dusted off her jacket, like she hadn’t just attacked a woman. She looked around, and smiled sharply. Somewhere, a baby started to cry. 

“If you want to contact someone about the damages, please call Jacob Lettenhoven,” she called out into the restaurant, then grabbed Geralt's arm and led him out of the building. No one tried to stop them, just let them leave, and Geralt was impressed. 

“Whose Jacob Lettenhoven?” he whispered as they walked, and Yennefer sighed, like he was the dumbest person she had ever met. 

“Jaskiers father,” she whispered back, and Geralt hated the man, the man who hated Jaskier for falling in love with both. “I like to blame him on certain things, because I can’t touch him from down here. It’s the only revenge I can get until I’m rich enough to kick his ass.” 

They started walking, and Geralt didn’t know where they were going, or if they were just walking aimlessly with no destination in mind. Yennefer still shook, the adrenaline coursing through her body. 

“Where’s Jaskier?” she eventually asked. They found a bench near Geralt's campus to sit at, and they watched the stars. It was nighttime now, and they could see their breath in the air as they breathed. Geralt remembered being a kid, pretending the condensation was smoke with his brother. 

“I sent him home,” he said, and Yennefer sighed with relief. 

“Thank God,” she said, and Geralt could see just how much she cared about Jaskier, no matter how much she pretended not to. They were silent again for a few seconds, and it felt weird without Jaskier to direct the conversation, as if they didn’t know how to communicate without him here. “Listen to me right now, because I’ll only say it once,” Yennefer said, and Geralt turned to her. “Thank you. Jaskier didn’t really need to see her tonight, and I’m glad you were able to help him.” 

She looked uncomfortable, as if she wasn’t used to thanking people, and Geralt felt happy he was one of the only ones she would. “No problem,” he replied. Yennefer's eyes were bright lilac purple, the colour he hated the most, but for some reason, the colour didn’t look bad on her. 

The two stared at each other for a minute before Yennefer reached up, and grasped his jaw tightly. He let her move his face down, so they were close together. Geralt could feel her breath on his lips, then she moved and kissed him. It lasted a few minutes, and her lips were warm against his. 

“Does this mean-” Geralt tried to say when they pulled back, before she kissed him again, cutting off his words. 

“Oh no darling, I still fucking hate you,” she chuckled against his lips. “But even I can admit it when someone is hot as fuck.” 

Geralt laughed, then kissed her back. It was good enough for now. They stayed on the bench for a few more minutes, before Geralt asked if she would like to come back to his place. He expected to get slapped for the question, but Yennefer nodded. 

They walked into Geralt’s dorm, and Geralt could hear his roommate snoring in the next room. He didn’t know where the other one was, never bothered to ask. He didn’t care much either. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Yennefer said, taking off her shirt to show a lacy black bra underneath. It looked expensive, and Geralt wondered if Jaskier had brought it for her. 

Geralt threw off his jacket, and led her into his room. “Of course it doesn't,” he said, trying not to think about how much he wished it did. 

* * *

Geralt could hear Jaskier enter his apartment the next morning, and he wondered how Jaskier was even able to get in. He could feel Yennefer's warmth next to him, and he was glad he hadn’t woken up holding her close. That would pretty fucking embarrassing. 

“Hey wake up sleepyhead,” Jaskier yelled, and Geralt's heart raced, not expecting the yelling, especially so early in the morning. 

“What the fuck Jaskier?” he mumbled, turning over and staring at Jaskier, who looked smug. 

“Yeah Jaskier, what the fuck?” Yennefer asked from beside him, and Geralt would treasure Jaskiers terrified look for the rest of his life. 

* * *

_This won’t happen again_

Geralt sent the text after Yennefer had left, a traumatised Jaskier in tow. Geralt almost felt for Jaskier, but not bad enough to stop enjoying his horror. 

_agreed_

He looked at the text Yennefer sent back, and sighed, sitting back into his bed. He would have to change his sheet today. At least he could content himself with the knowledge that they would never see each other again. 

* * *

It happened again. And again. And again. To tell the truth it was kind of a problem. 

Yennefer was pretty, any fool could see that. When she was walking through the streets, men called after her, and Jaskier would always flip them off, screaming insults in their direction. Yennefer would watch amused as Jaskier attacked those who harassed her, and Geralt would laugh at how willing he was to defend his friend. But Yennefer was also strong, powerful, and loyal. Geralt just hadn’t earned it yet. But he could continue doing this with her, falling into bed, or couch, or counter. 

Jaskier screamed as he entered Yennefer's room, and slammed the door shut once again with a bang. Yennefer threw her head back and laughed. It was the most beautiful sound Geralt had ever heard in his life. 

“Lock the door next time,” Jaskier muttered as they left the room after they were done. Jaskier was in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal, trembling slightly, looking like he was ready to go to church and repent. 

“Next time knock,” Yennefer replied, and Geralt marvelled at how casual she could be after just having her best friend walk in on them having sex. It had probably happened before. 

“Start doing it somewhere else. Honestly, I need some brain bleach because that was incredibly emotionally scarring. I’ll need to get some therapy because of that bullshit.” 

“You’re just being dramatic,” Geralt grunted, sitting down. Jaskier looked betrayed, and Geralt smiled at him, though it probably just came out looking like a grimace. “It’s not like you’ve seen people have sex before.” 

“Not my two best friends!” Geralt wanted to say that they weren’t friends, but a tiny part of him thought maybe that would make it worse. “I’m traumatised for life after that.” 

Yennefer rolled her eyes at Geralt, and Geralt smiled back, as if they had an inside joke between them, one named Jaskier, their mutual nuisance. 

* * *

Yennefer and Geralt were in line for a punk band, one they both enjoyed. Geralt had loved their music since he was fourteen, and his parents had left him for Vesemir to find. He was still angry, still pissed, and the music provided an outlet. Now, he wasn’t as angry, but the music held a special place in his heart. It had gotten him through some tough times. 

The line was full of leather wearing punks, with dyed mohawks, and lip rings. Geralt felt out of place among them, but Yennefer fit right in. She didn’t have the accessories, or the outfits, but when you looked at her, you knew she was trying to prove something to the world, that she was filled with anger. Geralt was able to hide his anger well, but some of hers still peeked through with every word she said. 

They were let in, and they entered a large arena filled with flashing lights. Yennefer's tickets were for the front, and Geralt grasped her hand as she led him through the crowd, pushing people away like she was an expert. It was already loud, hot, and sweaty, and Geralt was beginning to regret coming here, but Yennefer had convinced him. He didn’t feel like he could deny her anything. 

The band started after a while, and the lights dimmed. Yennefer cheered from beside him, and Geralt had never seen her so excited for anything. The music must have been an outlet for her as well. The show started, and Geralt was blown away by their talent. 

The lead guitarist was amazing, the music was interesting and even better live, and Geralt was trying to hide how much fun he was having. Beside him, Yennefer was screaming along, loud and messy. He loved how free she seemed, yelling out to the world like it owes her something. 

It was dark, and the lights were flashing, black to red to yellow, then repeated. The music was good, but everything was starting to blur. His vision swam. Geralt's head pounded, and he swayed slightly. He hated crowds and loud noise. Geralt could feel Yennefer grab his hand and pull him away, out the door, into the night, and he followed easily. Outside the building was flashing with lights, and Geralt took a deep breath, clearing his head. The night was freezing cold. Winter was on its way, and he was looking forward to it. 

“What are you doing?” he asked her, as she took out a packet of smokes. She lit one with a match, and inhaled, relaxing as she did. The smoke curled around her, and if Jaskier was ethereal, she looked like she was from hell. It was a nice contrast between the two. 

“Smoke break,” was all she said in response. Geralt shrugged, and leaned against the wall with her. The music pulsed from outside, and Geralt could hear the crowd scream. For some reason, he would rather be out here with Yennefer than inside dancing along.

They were silent, and Geralt didn’t know how to start the conversion, or if she even wanted him to. He wished he could have the people skills Jaskier seemed to have, able to manipulate people to his whims with just his words. 

“Was something wrong with Jaskier?” Yennefer spoke up, and Geralt burned at his name. Jaskier. Of course that was who she was worried about. That was who was on her mind nearly all the time. What was it like to have Yennefer Vengerberg in love with you, and to not even know?

Was he jealous over Jaskier? Fuck.

“I don’t know, you know him better,” Geralt said instead, trying to hide his anger. He had always been good at that. Years of repression come in handy eventually. 

“He seemed weird when we left,” Yennefer continued. “Maybe we really should have brought him along.” 

Geralt snorted. “He would have hated it here.” Or maybe he just wanted to be alone with Yennefer without Jaskier bothering them. 

Yennefer looked at him, and didn’t say anything, just silently agreed. Geralt felt exposed under her gaze, like she was piecing him apart, looking into his corners and greatest kept secrets. He wished he could do the same to her, but she was hidden too well. She looked away, as if berating him in her head for something. 

There was something in her eyes, something soft and loving as she looked into the night, and Geralt knew she was thinking of someone else other than him. He wanted her to look at him like that. 

“If you want him so bad, why don’t you take him?” Geralt asked, then realised how horrible that sounded. He remembered how he had asked her that before, and she had told him to fuck off. 

“He doesn’t deserve me,” Yennefer replied, and Geralt laughed, like she had just told the funniest joke in the world. 

“So you think you’re too good for him?” 

“You misunderstand me. I don’t deserve him.” 

Geralt stopped. He didn’t know that was how Yennefer thought. It wasn’t true, it was Jaskier who wasn’t deserving of Yennefer. Jaskier who didn’t deserve Yennefer's love or attention. “That’s not right.” 

Yennefer finished her cigarette, and pushed herself off the wall. The music seemed to mute as Geralt looked into her eyes, as if the world melted away from him. Purple used to be his least favourite colour. He wasn’t so sure now, looking into Yennefers eyes. 

“Listen to me Geralt Rivia,” Yennefer said, looking like she wanted to tear Geralt's cock off. “Jaskier is not who you make him out to be. And I wouldn’t be able to give him what he wants.” 

“So why do you love him?” 

Yennefer looked at him, then sighed. “Jaskier is someone who has been through the same shit we have.” A cheer went up from the arena, and Yennefer began to walk the opposite direction. Geralt followed her, knowing there was still an hour left in the show, but he didn’t care. Wherever Yennefer went, he would follow. “My father beat me, your father abandoned you, and his father called him a whore to his face.” 

Fuck, Geralt was hating Jaskiers father even more these days, finding out more about what he did. 

“Me and you? We’re not okay. I want everything, I want this world at my feet, and mark my words, I one day will. And you, you want those who have hurt you to die, you want them to suffer just as bad as you did. Me and you both want power, and we both want control. But what does Jaskier want?” She turned to him, walking backwards, her hands in her pockets. “He wants something simple. He wants his songs to be known and loved by a few, and he wants a cottage on the coast. I can’t give that to him. I’ve already picked out my penthouse in the city.” 

She turned back around and laughed, sounding legitimately happy. “Somehow Jaskier went through some horrible shit, and he came out okay. He came out just as loving, as trusting, as stupidly naive as before. And he deserves his cottage on the coast. And I’ll be there to give to him, even if I have to stand on the side on his wedding day, watching him marry another.” 

“Since when do you care?” Geralt asked. It wasn’t meant to be mean, but in the few months he had known Yennefer, he knew that she was selfish, that she didn’t care about those she stomped out in her quest for glory. If she wanted Jaskier, she could have him, no matter what if Jaskier was in love or not. She could manipulate people, and Jaskier would fall under her spell, the same way Geralt did, the way he wished he hadn’t. 

“I’ve cared ever since I pushed him into the mud, and the next he approached me, telling me how beautiful my eyes were.” She stopped suddenly, and Geralt almost collided into her back. “Jaskier is my best friend, don’t tell him I said that. And if you hurt him in any way, I will kill you, regardless of whatever relationship we have.” 

Geralt nodded slowly, and Yennefer continued walking. “My place or yours?” she asked, like she hadn’t just threatened Geralt, like she hadn’t just spilled her guts to him. 

“Mine,” Geralt responded. He didn’t think he could face Jaskier, not tonight.

* * *

Jaskier was pulling them along, his weight a comforting feeling against them. He moved them along, as if they both couldn’t bench press him easily. He was too trusting, Geralt could see that now. He had zero sense of self preservation, and as much he hated Jaskier’s relationship with Yennefer, he could understand why she was protective of him. 

The abandoned house was bright, pulsing with bright multicoloured lights, and Geralt's eyes hurt already. Jaskier pulled them inside, and brought them over to a couch, pushing them both down. He moved them so easily, and Geralt remembered how if anyone else had tried that, he would have slaughtered them. Why was Jaskier different? 

“I’m going to go dance,” Jaskier screamed, his voice almost drowned out with the music, and Geralt nodded his agreement. He didn’t know why he was here, just that both Yennefer and Jaskier were with him. Yennefer smiled at Jaskier and watched as he walked away, lost among the people, looking like he belonged surrounded by people drunk on the music and alcohol. 

Yennefer leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He couldn’t hear it, and he could feel her get up, leaving his side, walking after Jaskier, like she was going to dance.

Geralt sat and waited for them to come back. He could see people look at him funny, as if he didn’t belong in the house. He thought that they might be right. This wasn’t his usual scene. 

He stayed on the couch, silent, not moving. The party moved past him, back and forth, and he felt like a stranger in the house. He wanted Jaskier or Yennefer to come for him, to lead him somewhere he could be safe, far away from the people who looked at him like trash. He hated how dependent he had become on both of them. 

The crowd parted and Yennefer stalked towards him, looking pissed. Something had happened, and Geralt wanted to make it better. Geralt got up, ready to greet her and ask what was wrong, but she didn’t let him speak, only grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the exit. Geralt wondered where she was taking him, or why he let her move him. 

She dragged him out towards the backyard, then spun him around so her back was pressed up against the fence, and he was kissing her. She was angry, and he could tell. She bit his lip, and kissed him like she wanted to kill him. He kissed back, trying to match her passion. He felt like he was floating in a dream. 

“I hate him,” Yennefer snarled against his lips, and kissed harder. It hurt, but Geralt continued, pushing her back. The fence creaked under their weight. He wondered if she was talking about Jaskier or someone else. 

Geralt could swear he could sense someone behind him, but he continued pushing her back, and the feeling went away, like it had never been there, like it had been nothing but his overactive imagination. 

* * *

They were at his dorm when Geralt asked her. 

“Do you want to date?” he said, laying in bed next to her, their clothes scattered around them. He didn’t know where Jaskier had ended up. He hoped the man was okay, but he had more pressing matters to concern himself with. 

Yennefer looked at him with hazy eyes. She shrugged, as if the question didn’t mean anything to her. “Sure. I have nothing better to do.” 

It hurt, knowing that she was only doing it because she was bored. But Geralt at last had something Jaskier didn’t have. And the look of betrayal on his face when they announced their dating was something that made Geralt unfairly happy. 

Did that make him a bad person, for enjoying someone else's pain? 

* * *

A few months later, Jaskiers dad died. Heart attack, the doctors said. 

Jaskier stumbled in, looking like his world was about to collapse around him. Geralt watched as Yennefer ran to him, and he followed behind. Yennefer held him, and Geralt wrapped his arms around them both as Jaskier sobbed, his shoulders shaking. 

Geralt wondered why Jaskier cared; if it were his own mother and father, Geralt would have smiled, happy they were gone. Jaskiers father called him a whore, Geralt thought that maybe Jaskier should be happy he was dead. But then he remembered what Yennefer had said. Jaskier was a man who still looked for the good in everyone. Maybe that was why he had befriended them both, despite being horrible people. 

Jaskier was lying in Geralt's bed, curled up like he was protecting himself from something, and Geralt was studying with Yennefer. They still had lots of homework to complete, and Geralt was ready to jump off a cliff to escape it. 

“I love you,” he muttered, and Yennefer smiled back. She had been acting weird ever since the news about Jaskiers father came out. She had been nice, especially to Jaskier, and Geralt wondered if maybe she could ever learn to love him too. 

Yennefer smiled, and kissed him. She didn’t say anything back, just smiled sadly. She didn’t fit with Geralt, but he wanted her to. He held her hand like it was a lifeline, and prayed to every god he knew that maybe she would forget about Jaskier. 

* * *

“I love you,” he said, as if the more he said, the more it would be returned. He hated feelings, but maybe this would be the thing to convince her he was serious. 

Yennefer smiled at him, like she was laughing inside. “I know you do.” she held him tighter, and Geralt shut his eyes, going to sleep. 

* * *

Geralt was beginning to learn that the world fucking hated him. He really should have known that the day his parents abandoned, as if he was worthless to them. The world had some kind of grudge against him. He didn’t know why. 

He was sitting in his dorm, reading over his textbooks, ready to burn them. He had no idea how to do anything, and he wished that maybe he had attended more lectures. He would have to get the recordings from fellow classmates, if he could even remember their names. 

The door opened and he turned to see Yennefer stumble in, looking like she had just seen a ghost. “Is everything okay?” he asked, getting worried. He shut his books, grateful for the distraction. She walked over to his bed and collapsed on it, putting her head in her hands. 

It was silent. Geralt didn't know what to say. He was never good at comforting people, but he supposed he could try for her. 

“Jaskier loves me,” she said eventually, looking like the world had turned on its head like she couldn’t believe it herself. It was for Geralt. He could everything end with just those words, everything he had built collapsing. 

He felt anger he had never felt course through his veins. It felt like molten glass inside of him, lighting him on fire, turning his lungs to steel. “What?” 

“He loves me. He wrote a song about me,” Yennefer said, voice rising as she spoke. She stood up, shaking slightly. “He never told me. How could I have not seen it?” 

Geralt couldn’t think beyond those words _Jaskier loves me_. How could he? How could he return Yennefer's feelings? Why had he never said anything? 

Geralt had never had something for himself. He wrote hand me downs all through high school, and he shared a room with his brothers. He had been in love with a girl from afar, but she died before he could confess. And when he was finally happy in a relationship, so close to taking Yennefer away from Jaskier, and all of sudden Jaskier was there, pulling her away again. He couldn’t ever just let Geralt have one thing for himself, had to take everything from him. 

Geralt may not deserve Yennefer, but they were perfect for each other. Both had fire running through their body, they both wanted the world to burn for what it had done to them. They were both rough, pissed, and they both wanted a penthouse over the city. Yennefer had smoke and tar in her lungs, and Geralt had calluses on his hands. They had no room for Jaskier’s soft love, and didn't have room for it. 

“This doesn’t have to change anything,” Yennefer said, but Geralt didn’t believe her. The only reason he had ever had Yennefer in the first place was because Jaskier wasn’t deserving of her. Jaskier never knew how much she wanted him, how much she wanted Jaskier to be hers, and hers alone. The only reason Geralt had Yennefer was because she believed there was no chance Jaskier would want her back, and Yennefer didn't feel like forcing him to love her. And now that she knew Jaskier did, what was stopping her from leaving Geralt? 

Geralt pushed past her, and left the room. He needed to talk to Jaskier, and needed someplace to put his terrible anger, before something horrible happened. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Yennefer called, running after him, but Geralt didn’t stop. Jaskier’s world had collapsed when his dad died, but Geralts had remained, and now that was gone as well. Geralt never thought he could hate Jaskier. “Don’t hurt him,” Yennefer called after him, but it was like white noise. 

Yennefer's car was next to Roach, and Geralt hopped into his truck. Yennefer was right behind him, but he was already pulling out of the driveway, leaving for Jaskiers house. 

It wasn’t fair. What right did Jaskier have to take everything from him? First his privacy, then his friendship, and then his love. Did Jaskier even love Yennefer or was he really the whore his father said he was? Geralt knew he liked to sleep with lots of people, but he didn’t think he would stoop so low as to lie. 

Was he lying? 

Geralt made it to the driveway, and walked up. He could see Yennefer's headlights, but they were far away. They wouldn't get there in time to stop him. He slammed open the door, and Jaskier was there, a bag in his hands, looking like he was about to run. 

He looked terrified, and Geralt didn’t even hesitate. “What the fuck Jaskier?” he snarled, and Jaskier went red. “You couldn’t let me have one thing, couldn’t you?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaskier said back, his voice trembling. Geralt grabbed him by his shirt, then shoved him against the wall, Jaskier’s legs dangling down. Geralt could feel his warmth against his body, and he marvelled at how light Jaskier really was. He wondered if he was eating enough. 

“You said you were in love with Yennefer,” Geralt yelled, his face right next to Jaskiers. His heart burned as he spoke. “You couldn’t just let me be happy for once? You just had to ruin everything, didn’t you?” 

“You prick, I said don’t hurt him,” Yennefer yelled, and pushed Geralt away with a strength he knew she had. He hadn’t even seen her come in, had been so focused on Jaskier. 

“You said it wouldn’t change anything between us,” Geralt replied. He could see Jaskier moving away out of the corner of his eye, but all he could see was Yennefer, looking at him like he had betrayed her. 

“Yeah, I said that, but I didn’t mean for you to hurt him,” she screamed back, and Geralt felt his heart break. They were both angry people, and they were both hurt. The world seemed to scream with them, like a declaration of war. 

“He obviously doesn’t mean it,” Geralt yelled back, his fists clenched. “He just wants to ruin things between us. He can have everything he wants, and he just has to choose you, doesn’t he?” 

Yennefer's eyes darkened, but Geralt didn’t feel fear. She was the strongest woman he knew, but she still had weakness. He was able to yell, when Jaskier coughed from behind Yenenfer. He had his bag in his hand, and looked like he was ready to flee, but Geralt could see the silent bravery in his eyes. Jaskier always was really fucking stupid. 

“I never wanted you to know,” he said, looking Geralt dead in the eyes. Geralt could see how scared he really was. “And it was never just her I had to keep it from.” His admission was all he had room for before his bravery escaped him. 

“What?” Geralt said, confused. Who else did Jaskier love, and then it hit him like a freight train. Things fitted into place, and he felt strange, like he was living in an alternative universe. His anger flickered out, and was replaced by cold guilt. “You mean you weren’t joking?” He remembered all the times Jaskier had flirted with him, and he thought he had been joking. 

Fuck, Jaskier loved him to. He was so stupid. 

Geralt moved forward to talk to Jaskier, and Yennefer stepped in front of him, stopping him from moving anymore. “Don’t go near him, this is why I never wanted him to talk to you,” she growled, and Geralt’s eyes widened. “He never should have met you.” 

And damn, if that didn’t make Geralt angrier, because if he wasn’t deserving of Jaskier, neither was Yennefer. She had been right about both of them. 

He was about to yell, when he noticed Jaskier walking away. He pointed, and Yennefer turned around. “Where are you going?” she asked, and Jaskier stopped. 

“Anywhere but here,” he replied, and now that Geralt wasn’t angry at him, he could feel the guilt rise. He had always been too quick to anger, but he thought he had sorted that out a long time ago. And now he drove Jaskier away. Yennefer would never forgive him. He probably wouldn’t forgive himself

“We have to talk about this,” Yennefer said, and Jaskier scoffed. 

“Talk about what? I’m sorry I fell in love with you, with both of you. I shouldn't have, but it’s too late now. So I’ll leave, and you can be together and be happy, okay?”

Geralt wondered how someone could be in love with two people at the same time. It must have been possible; the world was large, and there were so many things Geralt didn’t understand. He could learn. 

He wondered if he was in love with Jaskier. He knew he loved Yennefer, but what about Jaskier? He could fall in love with a storyteller. 

“Jaskier, don’t be an idiot, where will you go?” Yennefer asked, and Geralt wanted to laugh at what a stupid question that was. Jaskier was rich, of course he could go wherever he wanted. There was nothing stopping him, not law in the world he couldn’t break. 

“I’ll find somewhere on the globe, and I’ll make my home there. I’ll call and book a flight on my way to the airport.” 

“I’ll come find you,” Yennefer promised, and her eyes burned. “And when I do, you’ll be sorry that you ran.” Geralt wondered what it would be like to be chased by her, to be pursued like you belonged to her. 

“You want to find me, you want me to talk about this? Let's make it a challenge. Come and find me, lovers, and then we’ll talk,” Jaskier challenged, and Geralt burned. He had never been one to turn down a challenge. 

Jaskier walked out, and Yennefer went to follow him, but Geralt grabbed her by the arm. “We’ll find him tomorrow,” he promised, and Yennefer glared at him like she hated him. 

“Let go of me,” she snarled, looking like she was ready to cry, or kill someone. Geralt wasn't scared of her, and he thought that maybe he should be. 

“Jaskier deserves to run,” he said, and she screamed back. 

* * *

“We’re over,” she muttered a week later, passing him as he walked out her house. 

Geralt understood. He hated it, but he could understand why. He hated himself for what he said to Jaskier in the heat of the moment. He wondered where Jaskier was, where he was currently running to, far away from them. 

* * *

Geralt was in love with Yennefer. She was strong, powerful, funny, and loyal. He had been so close to earning that loyalty, the way Jaskier had. He had fucked up, he knew that much, and he wished he could apologise. 

(He had googled how to apologise to people, but it didn’t do much when Jaskier wasn’t there.) 

But, the more he thought about it, he wondered if he was in love with Jaskier. He thought about it, the idea of waking up everyday and going into the kitchen, the image of Jaskier making pancakes in Geralt's shirt. He imagined Jaskier turning around, and kissing Geralt softly on the lips, like they had been married for years. He didn’t hate it. In fact, he liked the idea. Jaskier was funny, creative, and made Geralt feel like he was cared for. 

He looked up poly couples. It was defined as consensual, responsible non-monogamy. Sometimes one person was polyamourous in the relationship, and was given permission by their monogamous partner to seek other people, as long as they came back to them at the end. Sometimes both were, and would date the same person together, or would seek different people, but would always love each other. 

It was interesting to him, but it kept him up at night. Was he polyamourous? He didn’t know the answer, only that he would be comfortable dating both Yennefer and Jaskier at the same time. And if Jaskier loved them both, and Yennefer did too, why didn’t they? 

(Because Geralt fucked everything up, but they didn’t talk about that. Maybe they should.)

* * *

They finished college. They paid for it, and they were going to complete it. Yennefer graduated with honours, and Geralt was drafted into a team. His new hockey team was strong, and he was a good addition. The public loved him, and he skated hard, so angry at himself, and it was the only way he knew how to get rid of his adrenaline. 

Yennefer didn’t text him much anymore. Sometimes she responded, but her answers were so far and few in between. Geralt missed her, but he knew he deserved her silence. He didn’t confront her, knew she would come back when she was ready. 

She became a successful doctor, and he earned a lot of money in the NHL. He was on TV, and lived in a penthouse above the city, and he knew that she did too. He didn’t know which one, only that it was bigger than his. 

It was weird; Jaskier had been an annoying little shit, but Geralt found himself missing Jaskier. He missed Jaskiers noise, how he made every conversation easier to deal with because that was just who he was; someone who was easy to get along with. 

One day Yennefer texted him unprompted. It said nothing but _we’re going to the coast_ , and Geralt laughed. So they were taking Jaskier’s challenge after all. He thought that maybe Yennefer would give up, but he knew she wasn’t one to let her things go. But Jaskier had always been the exception for her. 

Yennefer met him in British Columbia, and they walked down through Vancouver, but Jaskier wasn’t there. Geralt knew he wouldn’t; Jaskier hated the city. But Yennefer dragged him around, pulling him through the crowds, like she did once at the concert, and at the party where they first got together. It made him nostalgic for when he hadn’t fucked things up. 

She then dragged him to New Zealand, and it was too hot. Jaskier wouldn’t have liked it, would have died in the heat, but they still explored. Yennefer was almost desperate, and Geralt wondered why she still loved Jaskier even though he had left them. Then he remembered that he was the same, and thought it might be best to keep his mouth shut. 

They got a letter a year later. They had been searching on and off, because they still had jobs to attend to, jobs that elevated them in the world, got them closer to world domination. Yennefer still looked at him like he was trash beneath her, even though he was at the same level as her.

She walked into his penthouse like she belonged there, heels clicking on the floor, and shoved the letter into his chest. “Read this,” she spat, sounding angry, both at herself and the world. Geralt was just glad it wasn’t directed at him for once. 

_Dear Yen and Geralt:_

_You still haven’t found me. Not that I expected you to. You must be very happy together. I wish I could attend your wedding, but I don’t think you would want me there._

_I don’t want to apologise for falling in love with you both. Could you blame me? Am I in the wrong for thinking you are both worthy of all the things that are good in the world?_

_I miss you both. I miss my home. I love you._

_All the best wishes,_

_Jaskier_

“Where is it from?” Geralt asked, handing back the letter. 

“The man said he wasn’t supposed to say, but he told me it was from Spain.” 

“So we’ll head to Spain.” 

* * *

They didn’t find anything. The country was beautiful though. 

* * *

They were on some beach in Paris, and Geralt knew Jaskier wasn’t here, because Jaskier couldn’t speak French, and even though he was smart, he didn’t have the patience for it. Yennefer was sitting on the beach, looking like she was from hell, the shadows all around her, wearing pure black. 

Geralt came and sat beside her, and she didn't move away. That was progress, he supposed. He watched as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, then seemed to change her mind, and put them away. 

“Giving up smoking?” Geralt asked, voice rough from screaming Jaskiers name as they roamed the countryside, like looking for a lost dog. 

“Jaskier doesn’t deserve smoke and tar,” Yennefer responded, looking out into the waves as the sun set behind the water. The waves smashed onto the shore, and they were alone. Geralt had to agree with Yennefer; Jaskier didn’t deserve either of them. He just didn’t know which way it was anymore; if Jaskier wasn’t deserving of them because they were too good, or because they weren’t good enough. It was probably the latter. 

“I loved you,” Yennefer said, not looking at him. Geralt knew this; knew that when she said _loved_ she meant it. Everything was fucked up now, and Geralt had a chance before, but that was gone. All he could do now was beat the challenge, and prove to both he was sorry for what he did. 

“I know,” he responded. “Any chance I can fix it?” 

“Find him, and then we’ll talk,” Yennefer replied, and Geralt almost chuckled. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and got up. He brushed the sand from his suit, and walked away, leaving Yennefer on the beach alone. They would try another coast next month, when Geralt’s hockey season ended, and Yennefer was given another week off. Maybe they wouldn’t fail. 

* * *

Two decades passed. Geralt grew older, because that was how time worked. He won the Stanley Cup twice, which was pretty cool. Once he thought he could even see Yennefer in the crowd as he lifted the cup, clapping long with everyone else. It felt almost like forgiveness. 

“Come on,” she said, approaching him one summer. “I have a plane ticket for you.” 

Geralt didn’t know where they were going, only that he would follow her anywhere, like he would when he was younger. His bones ached now, but he would still get up and follow her through hell. 

He was older; he had been given the option to adopt, after Vesemir's friend died and left her granddaughter to him, but Geralt wasn’t qualified, so he gave the girl to Triss. Sometimes he visited, and the girl knew him as Uncle Geralt. He loved her. 

They flew to England, to Liverpool, and began looking around. Nowadays, they didn’t look as hard as they did before, only wandered, as if they would find him through sheer willpower alone. 

They were walking through the streets, hands almost brushing, when they heard his name, for the first time in forever. 

“Poor Jaskier,” a woman was saying as she walked through. She was on the phone with someone, and was holding the hand of a young girl, about eleven years old. The girl was wearing a dance suit, and had large curly hair. “Running from a broken heart, huh? I hope Samantha doesn’t bother him anymore.” 

Yennefer looked at Geralt in surprise. It sounded like him; Jaskier always sang of a broken heart, something left over from De Stael, but maybe he had written more. Geralt didn’t want to think about who they were about this time. 

“Ma’am,” Yennefer yelled, chasing after the woman. The woman turned, and glared at her. The girl at her hand looked smug, like she thought that she was better than them. 

“If you can’t already tell, I’m on the phone,” the woman hissed, and Yennefer put her hands on her hips. She was wearing a suit and dark makeup, and Geralt wondered how anyone could ever deny her. 

“Just tell us where Jaskier is,” she growled, and the woman rolled her eyes. 

“Ireland,” she said, her accent rolling the r’s, and then turned away, getting back on the phone, mumbling something about disrespectful American assholes. Geralt looked at Yennefer, and she nodded. 

They headed down to the docks, and got a boat, ready to ride out and find Jaskier. 

* * *

They ended up in a small village. It didn’t seem to have a name, but it looked old, like it had been standing there for years. Yennefer walked through, her heels clicking on the cobblestone road, looking out of place in the ancient village. Geralt thought he must have looked just as strange and out of place as her. 

Yennefer asked a local man where they could find the one named Jaskier, and the man pointed up the cliffs, looking suspiciously at them, like they were there to hurt the man. Geralt wondered if they were. Yennefer thanked him, something that she never did, then she took Geralts hand, and dragged him up. 

A winding dirt road brought them up the cliffs. They passed a farm with a hill, and a tiny house on top. Somewhere, Geralt thought he could hear twinkling bells, like fairies laughter. This place seemed exactly the type of spot Jaskier would settle down at; it was bright green, but cloudy, and it looked like it was about to storm. The waves crashed along the shore, and everything looked perfect. 

Yennefer’s hand felt warm in his as he approached the house at the top of the cliff. The game was over; they had found Jaskier, and then they would talk. 

“I loved you,” Yennefer whispered as they approached. Their steps slowed, like they were scared. Geralt thought he might be. “And I could learn to do it again.” 

Geralt didn’t respond, just squeezed her hand tight, reassuring her that he was there. The house loomed over them, looking like a monster to them. It housed their greatest love and greatest regret. 

“Whatever happens,” Geralt whispered, as they entered the garden, something Jaskier always bragged he would have, “Jaskier doesn’t have to forgive us. We don’t blame him if he doesn’t.” 

Yennefer nodded, and let go of his hand. Geralt could understand why she did; everything was fucked up because they dated. Jaskier didn’t need to think they were still together. 

Geralt is in love with Yennefer. He also loves Jaskier. He didn’t deserve either, but he wanted to be worthy of both. He would try for them, and he hoped they would try for him. 

Yennefer reached over and knocked sharply. They could hear someone approach the door, muttering to themselves, and Geralt's heart was about to beat out of his chest. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself for whatever happened, if Jaskier forgave him or not. 

“Coming back for these?” Jaskier said teasingly, opening the door and holding up two bright red ribbons. He had been expecting something else, and his face fell when he realised who it really was. Geralt pretended that didn’t hurt him. 

Jaskier was just as beautiful as Geralt remembered. Some of his hair was grey, and he had wrinkles from his eyes from laughing so hard. Geralt could already see him dancing around a pub, playing his songs for the village. His eyes were just as blue as Geralt remembered, looking like the ocean had gotten trapped inside of him. He had gotten old, but he was still perfect. 

The wind blew through them, and Yennefer inhaled sharply from beside him. Geralt couldn’t move. 

Jaskier looked terrified, but then he smiled softly, looking sad, like he had matured in their time apart. “Hello. I haven’t seen you two in forever.”

Geralt knew Jaskier was older now. But he was just as ethereal as before, and Geralt loved him. He felt like his heart would burst from it. 

“Hello Jaskier.” 

* * *

Jaskier bustled around his little cottage, getting them some tea and pastries. He refused to look them in the eyes, just moved around, getting stuff to eat. 

Geralt and Yennefer watched him, like they couldn’t believe he existed. Geralt couldn’t believe they had found him. They had won. The challenge was complete. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

“I didn’t think you two would ever find me,” Jaskier said, bringing over the teacups. It was chamomile, a calming scent, and Geralt sipped it slowly. It was sweet, and he thought that maybe Jaskier had grown it himself. 

“It took forever,” Yennefer said. “But we never stopped. I hope you know that.” 

Jaskier looked surprised, but he quickly covered it up. “Well, that’s good to know. What’s new with you two?” he asked, clapping his hands together. He dragged a chair over, looking ready to hear about what had happened after he ran away. Geralt wished they didn’t have to, wished he had been there with them to see them both succeed. 

“I won the Stanley Cup,” he began, and Jaskier looked delighted. “Twice.” 

“Oh, that’s amazing,” Jaskier said, looking so happy for him. “I knew you could do it. I’m always right aren’t I? What about you Yennefer?” 

“I’m a doctor,” she said, and Jaskier smiled. 

“Both you got your dream,” he said, “I’m so proud of you. I wish I could have seen it, had been there. And what else? Do you guys have any children? How was the wedding?” 

Geralt looked at Yennefer. Jaskier thought they had stayed together apparently. Jaskier didn’t seem to know he was what had kept them together. “We broke up actually,” Yennefer stated. “After you left.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, looking ruined, and Geralt wanted to erase that look forever. “I messed everything up didn’t I?” 

“No, you didn’t,” Yennefer said, putting down her tea. She looked fierce, ready to convince Jaskier that it wasn’t his fault. Geralt wanted to add something, but knew Yennefer could handle it.“It was mutual.” 

It technically wasn’t, but Geralt wasn’t going to say anything. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re still friends,” Jaskier said, looking like he didn’t know what else to say. Yennefer leaned forward, tired of their conversation. She had come to this place with a purpose, and Geralt was glad she was brave, because he didn’t think he could do it. 

“You said that if we found you, we would talk,” she said slowly, and Jaskiers eyes filled with fear. He set down his tea and sighed, sounding resigned to his fate. 

“That I did. Well, you found me. What do you want to say?” 

“Why did you run?” Yennefer asked. Geralt watched as Jaskier seemed to stiffen, like he was mentally preparing himself for something. Geralt wondered why Jaskier was scared. Mad, or even sad he could understand, but fear? Jaskier shouldn’t be afraid of either of them. 

“Why do you think? I didn’t want to hear you reject me. I know you loved each other, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” Jaskiers eyes were glassy, but no tears fell, almost like he refused to let them run down. 

“You’re a fucking fool. I’ve loved you since I was nineteen,” Yennefer said, and Jaskier gaped. Yennefer shifted, slightly uncomfortable, and Geralt could understand why. It was hard, exposing yourself, because then they had ammo to hurt you with. Geralt didn’t know why she was scared of telling him; Jaskier would never do that to her. 

“You never said anything,” he accused, looking like that was the last thing he expected Yennefer to say. Geralt supposed it was, but he was proud of Yennefer for finally being able to admit her feelings. 

“I didn’t think I was worthy,” Yennefer said, spitting out the words like she was ashamed of even thinking them. “You deserved better than me.” 

“No, Yen,” Jaskier said. He reached across and grabbed her hands in his, holding on tight. “We were perfect for each other. You deserve someone who was kind, who would love you in the way you needed, and I needed someone to keep me grounded. We would have been perfect, but you choose Geralt, and I respected that. I ran because I didn’t want to hear you hate me, but I also didn’t want it to change anything between you two.” 

“I never should have been with Yennefer,” Geralt spoke up and Jaskier turned to him, perhaps for the first time that day. It felt strange, having Jaskiers attention on him for the first time in two decades. 

“No Geralt, you loved her, I could tell that much for sure. It wasn’t your fault for falling in love, I can’t fault you for that.” Something in his eyes was telling, as if he were reminding Geralt of how he had shamed Jaskier for loving before, and Geralt had to look away, lest he never forgive himself. “I just didn’t want to see it myself.” 

“Well, we still want you,” Yennefer said, and Jaskiers eyes widened. 

“We?” he said, turning to Geralt, looking confused. But Geralt could see the beginning of hope in his eyes that seemed to brighten the very room. Geralt nodded slowly. 

“I’m not used to this,” he said, voice rough, “But I want to try at least. If you would let me.” 

Jaskier looked at him, eyes filled with disappointment. Geralt knew what he had to do. "I'm sorry Jaskier," he said, and Jaskier looked so surprised, like he didn't know Geralt could. That just made it worse. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. You didn't deserve it. I'm sorry. Can you please let me try?" 

Jaskier seemed to consider it. He stood up and grabbed their teacups, bringing them to the sink to be washed later. “I don’t know Geralt,” he said, turning back to them. “I appreciate the apology, and I want to try, I really do, but I don’t know if I can trust you.” He stopped and looked at Yennefer. “Both of you. I was-” he shook his head, and tried to find the right words. “I was hurt for a long time, and I can’t just do this right away.” 

Geralt had known that was probably what Jaskier would say, but it still hurt him to hear. At least Jaskier got to hear it. 

“We understand,” Yennefer said, getting up and approaching Jaskier. “But can we prove it to you? Let us stay in your town and take care of you, if you would let us.” 

“This isn’t my town,” Jaskier said, moving away from Yennefer, and she stopped. “You can stay as long as you want. And you can try. Maybe it’ll work. There is a house for sale five minutes from here, I’m sure you can buy that.” 

Geralt felt relief fill him. He had a chance to make things better. They both did. That was all he wanted. 

“Thank you,” he said, nodding at Jaskier, and Jaskier hesitantly smiled back. Yennefer moved closer to him, and this time, Jaskier didn’t move away. She walked up to him, and kissed him slightly on the cheek. Jaskiers cheeks flooded with colour, and it really shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. 

“We’ll see you soon,” she promised, and Jaskier nodded. Geralt waved goodbye as they left. Jaskier waved from his garden until they were out of sight, and Yennefer took a deep breath. She took Geralt's hand again, and they walked over to the house Jaskier spoke about. It was near the town, and it was crumbling. It looked like it had been through wars, and now it was theirs. They would stick with their promise. 

“Welcome home,” Yennefer said, and walked inside. Geralt smiled, and followed her in, ready to start a new life. 

* * *

They were in the town later when two girls approached them. One had wild red hair, and the other brown. They both had bare feet, but the one with red hair was muddy, while the other was clean, as if the red haired one had helped her through. 

“You better not hurt him again,” the red haired girl said, looking ready to fight them both, and Geralt knew exactly who she was talking about. “Or me and Annie will get you.” 

Yennefer looked at Geralt, before bending over, and staring at them. “Good luck with that,” she whispered, and the two girls stuck their tongues out, before running away laughing. 

“Looks like it’s not just Jaskier we have to prove ourselves to,” Geralt said, looking around. The villagers were glaring at them both, and Geralt got the feeling they knew why they were here. He could hear Yennefer sigh from beside him. 

“Do you think we should get him some flowers?” 

“Yeah, some flowers would be good.” 

The sun was setting, and Geralt and Yennefer had a new home. Jaskier deserved love, the pure kind, and they would try their best to give to him, even if they had to heal themselves first. 

* * *

The next week they approached Jaskier again. Geralt carried roses, and Yennefer carried bluebells. 

Jaskier was tending to his garden when he saw them coming. He straightened out, covered in dirt and waved them over. His smile was bright, and Geralt was almost blinded by it. He could feel himself start to smile, content with himself to know that he was in love with both Jaskier and Yennefer. And they approached him, and Jaskier opened the gate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading!! I wrote this in a day, so if there are any mistakes, feel free to tell me, so i can improve!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll probably add a chapter from Geralt or Yennefers pov, because there is a lot going on that Jaskier doesn't catch on to, because he's a fucking idiot


End file.
